PRO  IXSII^XI   IX   STITDIIS  IMLir.EXTIA, 
&U&**!^  &*** 

Consill.lT.i't  TT.adjuv. 

AD.MDOOCIX 

7,/^r '     r     '      -""..'         '.''  * 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


Gift  of 


Mrs.    Griffith  C.    Evans 


NATURE, 

ADDRESSES,  AND  LECTURES. 


MISCELLANIES; 


EMBRACING 


NATURE,   ADDRESSES,   AND   LECTURES. 


BY 


K    W.    EMERSON 


BOSTON: 
PHILLIPS,    SAMPSON,    AND    COMPANY. 

M.DCCC.LVI. 


t/-  11 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by 
PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  AND  COMPANY,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


RIVERSIDE,     CAMBRIDGE : 
STEREOTYPED    BT    H.   O.   HOUGHTON  AHD   COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


NATURE 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR.  AN  ORATION  BEFORE 
THE  PHI  BETA  KAPPA  SOCIETY,  AT  CAMBRIDGE, 
AUGUST  31,  1837 75 

AN  ADDRESS  TO  THE  SENIOR  CLASS  IN  DIVINITY 
COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE,  JULY  15,  1838,  .  .  113 

LITERARY  ETHICS.  AN  ADDRESS  TO  THE  LITERARY 
SOCIETIES  IN  DARTMOUTH  COLLEGE,  JULY  24,  1838  .  147 

THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.  AN  ADDRESS  TO  THE 
SOCIETY  OF  THE  ADELPHI,  IN  WATERVILLE  COL 
LEGE,  MAINE,  AUGUST  11,  1841  .  .  "  .  .  181 

MAN  THE  REFORMER.  A  LECTURE  READ  BEFORE 
THE  MECHANICS'  APPRENTICES'  LIBRARY  ASSOCIA 
TION,  BOSTON,  JANUARY  25,  1841  ....  217 

INTRODUCTORY  LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES.  READ 
IN  THE  MASONIC  TEMPLE,  BOSTON,  DEC.  2,  1841  .  249 


VI  CONTENTS. 

THE  CONSERVATIVE.  A  LECTURE  READ  IN  THE 
MASONIC  TEMPLE,  BOSTON,  DECEMBER  9,  1841  .  283 

THE  TRANSCENDENTALISM  -  A  LECTURE  READ  IN 
THE  MASONIC  TEMPLE,  BOSTON,  JANUARY,  1842.  .  317 

THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN.  A  LECTURE  READ  TO 
THE  MERCANTILE  LIBRARY  ASSOCIATION,  IN  BOSTON, 
FEBRUARY  7,  1844  .  349 


NATURE. 


A  subtle  chain  of  countless  rings 
The  next  unto  the  farthest  brings ; 
The  eye  reads  omens  where  it  goes, 
And  ^speaks  all  languages  the  rose  ; 
And,  striving  to  be  man,  the  worm 
Mounts  through  all  the  spires  of  form. 


INTRODUCTION. 


OUR  age  is  retrospective.  It  builds  the  sepul 
chres  of  the  fathers.  It  writes  biographies,  his 
tories,  and  criticism.  The  foregoing  generations 
beheld  God  and  nature  face  to  face ;  we,  through 
their  eyes.  Why  should  not  we  also  enjoy  an 
original  relation  to  the  universe  ?  Why  should 
not  we  have  a  poetry  and  philosophy  of  insight 
and  not  of  tradition,  and  a  religion  by  revela 
tion  to  us,  and  not  the  history  of  theirs  ?  Em 
bosomed  for  a  season  in  nature,  whose  floods 
of  life  stream  around  and  through  us,  and  invite 
us  by  the  powers  they  supply,  to  action  propor 
tioned  to  nature,  why  should  we  grope  among 
the  dry  bones  of  the  past,  or  put  the  living  gen 
eration  into  masquerade  out  of  its  faded  ward 
robe  ?  The  sun  shines  to-day  also.  There  is 
more  wool  and  flax  in  the  fields.  There  are 
new  lands,  new  men,  new  thoughts.  Let  us 
demand  our  own  works  and  laws  and  worship. 
1 


2  INTRODUCTION. 

Undoubtedly  we  have  no  questions  to  ask 
which  are  unanswerable.  We  must  trust  the 
perfection  of  the  creation  so  far,-  as  to  believe 
that  whatever  curiosity  the  order  of  things  has 
awakened  in  our  minds,  the  order  of  things  can 
satisfy.  Every  man's  condition  is  a  solution  in 
hieroglyphic  to  those  inquiries  he  would  put. 
He  acts  it  as  life,  before  he  apprehends  it  as 
truth.  In  like  manner,  nature  is  already,  in  its 
forms  and  tendencies,  describing  its  own  design. 
Let  us  interrogate  the  great  apparition,  that 
shines  so  peacefully  around  us.  Let  us  inquire, 
to  what  end  is  nature  ? 

All  science  has  one  aim,  namely,  to  find  a 
theory  of  nature.  We  have  theories  of  races 
and  of  functions,  but  scarcely  yet  a  remote  ap 
proach  to  an  idea  of  creation.  We  are  now  so 
far  from  the  road  to  truth,  that  religious  teachers 
dispute  and  hate  each  other,  and  speculative  men 
are  esteemed  unsound  and  frivolous.  But  to  a 
sound  judgment,  the  most  abstract  truth  is  the 
most  practical.  ^Whenever  a  true  theory  appears, 
it  will  be  its  own  evidence.  Its  test  is,  that 
it  will  explain  all  phenomena.  Now  many  are 
thought  not  only  unexplained  but  inexplicable  ; 
as  language,  sleep,  madness,  dreams,  beasts,  sex. 

Philosophically  considered,  the  universe  is 
composed  of  Nature  and  the  Soul.  Strictly 


INTRODUCTION.  6 

speaking,  therefore,  all  that  is  separate  from  us, 
all  which  Philosophy  distinguishes  as  the  NOT 
ME,  that  is,  both  nature  and  art,  all  other  men 
and  my  own  body,  must  be  ranked  under  this 
name,  NATURE.  In  enumerating  the  values  of 
nature  and  casting  up  their  sum,  I  shall  use  the 
word  in  both  senses  ;  —  in  its  common  and  in  its 
philosophical  import.  In  inquiries  so  general  as 
our  present  one,  the  inaccuracy  is  not  material ; 
no  confusion  of  thought  will  occur.  Nature,  in 
the  common  sense,  refers  to  essences  unchanged 
by  man ;  space,  the  air,  the  river,  the  leaf.  Art 
is  applied  to  the  mixture  of  his  will  with  the 
same  things,  as  in  a  house,  a  canal,  a  statue,  a 
picture.  But  his  operations*  taken  together  are 
so  insignificant,  a  little  chipping,  baking,  patch 
ing,  and  washing,  that  in  an  impression  so  grand 
as  that  of  the  world  on  the  human  mind,  they 
do  not  vary  the  result. 


NATURE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

To  go  into  solitude,  a  man  needs  to  retire  as 
much  from  his  chamber  as  from  society.  I  arn 
not  solitary  whilst  I  read  and  write,  though  no 
body  is  with  me.  But  if  a  man  would  be  alone, 
let  him  look  at  the  stars.  The  rays  that  come  ' 
from  those  heavenly  worlds,  will  separate  between 
him  and  what  he  touches.  One  might  think  the 
atmosphere  was  made  transparent  with  this  de 
sign,  to  give  man,  in  the  heavenly  bodies,  the 
perpetual  presence  of  the  sublime.  Seen  in  the 
streets  of  cities,  hpw  great  they  are!  If  the 
stars  should  appear  one  night  in  a  thousand 
years,,  how  would  men  believe  and  adore ;  and 
preserve  for  many  generations  the  remembrance 
of  the  city  of  God  which  had  been  shown !  But 
1* 


6  NATURE. 

every  night  come  out  these  envoys  of  beauty,  and 
light  the  universe  with  their  admonishing  smile. 

The  stars  awaken  a  certain  reverence,  because 
though  always  present,  they  are  inaccessible ; 
but  all  natural  objects  make  a  kindred  impression, 
when  the  mind  is  open  to  their  influence.  Na 
ture  never  wears  a  mean  appearance.  Neither 
does  the  wisest  man  extort  her  secret,  and  lose 
his  curiosity  by  finding  out  all  her  perfection.  Na 
ture  never  became  a  toy  to  a  wise  spirit.  The 
flowers,  the  animals,  the  mountains,  reflected 
the  wisdom  of  his  best  hour,  as  much  as  they 
had  delighted  the  simplicity  of  his  childhood. 

When  we  speak  of  nature  in  this  manner,  we 
have  a  distinct  but  most  poetical  sense  in  the 
mind.  We  mean  the  integrity  of  impression 
made  by  manifold  natural  objects.  It  is  this 
which  distinguishes  the  stick  of  timber  of  the 
wood-cutter,  from  the  tree  of  the  poet.  The 
charming  landscape  which  I  saw  this  morning,  is 
indubitably  made  up  of  some  twenty  or  thirty 
farms.  Miller  owns  this  field,  Locke  that,  and 
Manning  the  woodland  beyond.  But  none  of 
them  owns  the  landscape.  There  is  a  property 
in  the  horizon  which  no  man  has  but  he  whose 
eye  can  integrate  all  the  parts,  that  is,  the  poet. 
This  is  the  best  part  of  these  men's  farms,  yet 
to  this  their  warranty-deeds  give  no  title. 


NATURE.  7 

To  speak  truly,  few  adult  persons  can  see 
nature.  Most  persons  do  not  see  the  sun.  At 
least  they  have  a.  very  superficial  seeing.  The 
sun  illuminates  only  the  eye  of  the  man,  but 
shines  into  the  eye  and  the  heart  of  the  child. ' 
The  lover  of  nature  is  he  whose  inward  and  out 
ward  senses  are  still  truly  adjusted  to  each  other ; 
who  has  retained  the  spirit  of  infancy  even  into 
the  era  of  manhood.  His  intercourse  with  heaven 
and  earth,  becomes  part  of  his  daily  food.  In 
the  presence  of  nature,  a  wild  delight  runs 
through  the  man,  in  spite  of  real  sorrows.  Na 
ture  says,  —  he  is  my  creature,  and  maugre  all 
his  impertinent  griefs,  he  shall  be  glad  with  me. 
Not  the  sun  or  the  summer  alone,  but  every  hour 
and  season  yields  its  tribute  of  delight ;  for  every 
hour  and  change  corresponds  to  and  authorizes  a 
different  state  of  the  mind,  from  breathless  noon 
to  grimmest  midnight.  Nature  is  a  setting  that 
fits  equally  well  a  comic  or  a  mourning  piece. 
In  good  health,  the  air  is  a  cordial  of  incredible 
virtue.  Crossing  a  bare  common,  in  snow  pud- ' 
dies,  at  twilightj  under  a  clouded  sky,  without 
having  in  my  thoughts  any  occurrence  of  special 
good  fortune,  I  have  enjoyed  a  perfect  exhilara 
tion.  I  am  glad  to  the  brink  of  fear.  In  the 
woods  too,  a  man  casts  off  his  years,  as  the 
snake  his  slough,  and  at  what  period  soever  of 


8  NATURE. 

life,  is  always  a  child.  In  the  woods,  is  perpet 
ual  youth.  Within  these  plantations  of  God,  a 
decorum  and  sanctity  reign,  a^  perennial  festival 
is  dressed,  and  the  guest  sees  not  how  he  should 
tire  of  them  in  a  thousand  years.  In  the  woods, 
we  return  to  reason  and  faith.  There  I  feel  that 
nothing  can  befall  me  in  life,  —  no  disgrace,  no 
calamity,  (leaving  me  my  eyes,)  which  nature 
cannot  repair.  Standing  on  the  bare  ground.  — 
my  head  bathed  by  the  blithe  air,  and  uplifted 
into  infinite  space,  —  all  mean  egotism  vanishes. 
I  become  a  transparent  eye-ball ;  I  am  nothing  ; 
I  see  all ;  the  currents  of  the  Universal  Being 
circulate  through  me  ;  I  am  part  or  parcel  of 
God.  The  name  of  the  nearest  friend  sounds 
then  foreign  and  accidental :  to  be  brothers,  to 
be  acquaintances,  —  master  or  servant,  is  then  a 
trifle  and  a  disturbance.  I  am  the  lover  of  un- 
contained  and  immortal  beauty.  In  the  wilder 
ness,  I  find  something  more  dear  and  connate 
ihan  in  streets  or  villages.  In  the  tranquil  land 
scape,  and  especially  in  the  distant  line  of  the 
horizon,  man  beholds  somewhat  as  beautiful  as 
his  own  nature. 

The  greatest  delight  which  the  fields  and  woods 
minister,  is  the  suggestion  of  an  occult  relation 
between  man  and  the  vegetable.  I  am  not  alone 
and  unacknowledged.  They  nod  to  me,  and  I 


NATURE.  9 

to  them.  The  waving  of  the  boughs  in  the 
storm,  is  new  to  me  and  old.  It  takes  me  by 
surprise,  and  yet  is  not  unknown.  Its  effect  is 
like  that  of  a  higher  thought  or  a  better  emotion 
coming  over  me,  when  I  deemed  I  was  thinking 
justly  or  doing  right. 

Yet  it  is  certain  that  the  power  to  produce  this 
delight,  does  not  reside  in  nature,  but  in  man,  or 
in  a  harmony  of  both.  It  is  necessary  to  use 
these  pleasures  with  great  temperance.  For, 
nature  is  not  always  tricked  in  holiday  attire, 
but  the  same  scene  which  yesterday  breathed 
perfume  and  glittered  as  for  the  frolic  of  the 
nymphs,  is  overspread  with  melancholy  to-day. 
Nature  always  wears  the  colors  of  the  spirit. 
To  a  man  laboring  under  calamity,  the  heat  of 
his  own  fire  hath  sadness  in  it.  Then,  there  is 
a  kind  of  contempt  of  the  landscape  felt  by  him 
who  has  just  lost  by  death  a  dear  friend.  The 
sky  is  less  grand  as  it  shuts  down  over  less  worth 
in  the  population. 


CHAPTER    II. 

COMMODITY. 

WHOEVER  considers  the  final  cause  of  the 
world,  will  discern  a  multitude  of  uses  that  enter 
as  parts  into  that  result.  They  all  admit  of 
being  thrown  into  one  of  the  following  classes  : 
Commodity ;  Beauty ;  Language ;  and  Discipline. 

Under  the  general  name  of  commodity,  I  rank 
all  those  advantages  which  our  senses  owe  to 
nature.  This,  of  course,  is  a  benefit  which  is 
temporary  and  mediate,  not  ultimate,  like  its 
service  to  the  soul.  Yet  although  low,  it  is  per 
fect  in  its  kind,  and  is  the  only  use  of  nature 
which  all  men  apprehend.  The  misery  of  man 
appears  like  childish  petulance,  when  we  explore 
the  steady  and  prodigal  provision  that  has  been 
made  for  his  support  and  delight  on  this  green 
ball  which  floats  him  through  the  heavens. 
-What  angels  invented  these  splendid  ornaments, 
these  rich  conveniences,  this  ocean  of  air  above, 
this  ocean  of  water  beneath,  this  firmament  of 
earth  between  ?  this  zodiac  of  lights,  this  tent 
of  dropping  clouds,  this  striped  coat  of  climates, 


COMMODITY.  11 

this  fourfold  year  ?  Beasts,  fire,  water,  stones, 
and  corn  serve  him.  The  field  is  at  once  his 
floor,  his  work-yard,  his  play-ground,  his  garden, 
and  his  bed. 

"  More  servants  wait  on  man 
Than  he  '11  take  notice  of." 


Nature,  in  its  ministry  to  man,  is  not  only  the 
material,  but  is  also  the  process  and  the  result. 
All  the  parts  incessantly  work  into  each  other's 
hands  for  the  profit  of  man.  The  wind  sows 
the  seed  ;  the  sun  pvaporates  the  s"ea ;  the  wind 
blows  the  vapor  to  the  field;  the  ice,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  planet,  condenses  rain  on  this  ; 
the  rain  feeds  the  plant ;  the  plant  feeds  the  ani 
mal  ;  and  thus  the  endless  circulations  of  the 
divine  charity  nourish  man. 

The  useful  arts  are  reproductions  or  new  com 
binations  by  the  wit  of  man,  of  the  same  natu 
ral  benefactors.  He  no  longer  waits  for  favoring 
gales,  but  by  means  of  steam,  he  realizes  the 
fable  of  ^Bolus's  bag,  and  carries  the  two  and 
thirty  winds  in  the  boiler  of  his  boat.  To  di 
minish  friction,  he  paves  the  road  with  iron  bars, 
and,  mounting  a  coach  with  a  ship-load  of  men, 
animals,  and  merchandise  behind  him,  he  darts 
through  the  country,  from  town  to  town,  like  an 
eagle  or  a  swallow  through  the  air.  By  the 


12  COMMODITY. 

aggregate  of  these  aids,  how  is  the  face  of  the 
world  changed,  from  the  era  of  Noah  to  that  of 
Napoleon  !  The  private  poor  man  hath  cities, 
ships,  canals,  bridges,  built  for  him.  He  goes  to 
the  post-office,  and  the  human  race  run  on  his 
errands ;  to  the  book-shop,  and  the  human  race 
read  and  write  of  aU  that  happens,  for  him ;  to 
the  court-house,  and  nations  repair  his  wrongs. 
He  sets  his  house  upon  the  road,  and  the  human 
race  go  forth  every  morning,  and  shovel  out  the 
snow,  and  cut  a  path  for  him. 

But  there  is  no  need  of  specifying  particulars 
in  this  class  of  uses.  The  catalogue  is  endless, 
and  the  examples  so  obvious,  that  I  shall  leave 
them  to  the  reader's  reflection,  with  the  general 
remark,  that  this  mercenary  benefit  is  one  which 
has  respect  to  a  farther  good.  A  man  is  fed,  not 
that  he  may  be  fed,  but  that  he  may  work. 


CHAPTER    III. 

BEAUTY. 

A  NOBLER  want  of  man  is  served  by  nature, 
namely,  the  love  of  Beauty. 

The  ancient  Greeks  called  the  world  «oo/*of, 
beauty.  Such  is  the  constitution  of  all  things, 
or  such  the  plastic  power  of  the  human  eye, 
that  the  primary  forms,  as  the  sky,  the  moun 
tain,  the  tree,  the  animal,  give  us  a  delight  in 
and  for  themselves  ;  a  pleasure  arising  from  out 
line,  color,  motion,  and  grouping.  This  seems 
partly  owing  to  the  eye  itself.  The  eye  is  the 
best  of  artists.  By  the  mutual  action  of  its 
structure  and  of  the  laws  of  light,  perspective 
is  produced,  which  integrates  every  mass  of 
objects,  of  what  character  soever,  into  a  well 
colored  and  shaded  globe,  so  that  where  the 
particular  objects  are  mean  and  unaffecting,  the 
landscape  which  they  compose,  is  round  and 
symmetrical.  And  as  the  eye  is  the  best  com 
poser,  so  light  is  the  first  of  painters.  There 
i$>  no  object  so  foul  that  intense  light  will  not 
make  beautiful.  And  the  stimulus  it  affords  to 
2 


14  BEAUTY. 

the  sense,  and  a  sort  of  infinitude  which  it  hath, 
like  space  and  time,  make  all  matter  gay.  Even 
the  corpse  has  its  own  beauty.  But  besides  this 
general  grace  diffused  over  nature,  almost  all  the 
individual  forms  are  agreeable  to  the  eye,  as  is 
proved  by  our  endless  imitations  of  some  of 
them,  as  the  acorn,  the  grape,  the  pine-cone,  the 
wheat-ear,  the  egg,  the  wings  and  forms  of  most 
birds,  the  lion's  claw,  the  serpent,  the  butterfly, 
sea-shells,  flames,  clouds,  buds,  leaves,  and  the 
forms  of  many  trees,  as  the  palm. 

For  better  consideration,  we  may  distribute 
the  aspects  of  Beauty  in  a  threefold  manner. 

1.  First,  the  simple  perception  of  natural  forms 
is  a  delight.  The  influence  of  the  forms  and 
actions  in  nature,  is  so  needful  to  man,  that,  in 
its  lowest  functions,  it  seems  to  lie  on  the  con 
fines  of  commodity  and  beauty.  To  the  body 
and  mind  which  have  been  cramped  by  noxious 
work  or  company,  nature  is  medicinal  and  re 
stores  their  tone.  The  tradesman,  the  attorney 
comes  out  of  the  din  and  craft  of  the  street,  and 
sees  the  sky  and  the  woods,  and  is  a  man  again. 
In  then:  eternal  calm,  he  finds  himself.  The 
health  of  the  eye  seems  to  demand  a  horizon. 
We  are  never  tired,  so  long  as  we  can  see  far 
enough. 

But  in  other  hours,    Nature   satisfies  by  its 


BEAUTY.  15 

loveliness,  and  without  any  mixture  of  corporeal 
benefit  I  see  the  spectacle  of  morning  from  the 
hill-top  over  against  -my  house,  from  day-break 
to  sun*rise,  with  emotions  which  an  angel  might 
share.  The  long  slender  bars  of  cloud  float  like 
fishes  in  the  sea  of  crimson  light.  From  the 
earth,  as  a  shore,  I  look  out  into  that  silent  sea. 
I  seem  to  partake  its  rapid  transformations  :  the 
active  enchantment  reaches  my  dust,  and  I  di 
late  and  conspire  with  the  morning  wind.  How 
does  Nature  deify  us  with  a  few  and  cheap 
elements !  Give  me  health  and  a  day,  and  I 
will  make  the  pomp  of  emperors  ridiculous. 
The  dawn  is  my  Assyria  ;  the  sun-set  and  moon- 
rise  my  Paphos,  and  unimaginable  realms  of 
faerie ;  broad  noon  shall  be  ray  England  of  the 
senses  and  the  understanding  ;  the  night  shall  be 
my  Germany  of  mystic  philosophy  and  dreams. 
Not  less  excellent,  except  for  our  less  suscep 
tibility  in  the*  afternoon,  was  the  charm,  last 
evening,  of  a  January  sunset.  The  western 
clouds  divided  and  subdivided  themselves  into 
pink  flakes  modulated  with  tints  of  unspeakable 
softness;  and  the  air  had  so  much  life  and  sweet 
ness,  that  it  was  a  pain  to  come  within  doors. 
What  was  it  that  nature  would  say  ?  Was  there 
no  meaning  in  the  live  repose  of  the  valley  be 
hind  the  mill,  and  which  Homer  or  Shakspeare 


16  BEAUTY. 

could  not  re-form  for  me  in  words  ?  The  leaf 
less  trees  become  spires  of  flame  in  the  sunset, 
with  the  blue  east  for  their  back-ground,  and  the 
stars  of  the  dead  calices  of  flowers,  and  every 
withered  stem  and  stubble  rimed  with  frost,  con 
tribute  something  to  the  mute  music. 

The  inhabitants  of  cities  suppose  that  the 
country  landscape  is  pleasant  only  half  the  year. 
I  please  myself  with  the  graces  of  the  winter 
scenery,  and  believe  that  we  are  as  much  touched 
by  it  as  by  the  genial  influences  of  summer. 
To  the  attentive  eye,  each  moment  of  the  year 
has  its  own  beauty,  and  in  the  same  field,  it 
beholds,  every  hour,  a  picture  which  was  never 
seen  before,  and  which  shall  never  be  seen  again. 
The  heavens  change  every  moment,  and  reflect 
their  glory  or  gloom  on  the  plains  beneath.  The 
state  of  the  crop  in  the  surrounding  farms  alters 
the  expression  of  the  earth  from  week  to  week. 
The  succession  of  native  plants  in  the  pastures 
and  roadsides,  which  makes  the  silent  clock  by 
which  time  tells  the  summer  hours,  will  make 
even  the  divisions  of  the  day  sensible  to  a  keen 
observer.  The  tribes  of  birds  and  insects,  like 
the  plants  punctual  to  their  time,  follow  each 
other,  and  the  year  has  room  for  all.  By  water 
courses,  the  variety  is  greater.  In  July,  the  blue 
pontederia  or  pickerel- weed  blooms  in  large  beds 


BEArTY.  17 

in  the  shallow  parts  of  our  pleasant  river,  and 
swarms  with  yellow  butterflies  in  continual  mo 
tion.  Art  cannot  rival  this  pomp  of  purple  and 
gold.  Indeed  the  river  is  a  perpetual  gala,  and 
boasts  each  month  a  new  ornament. 

But  this  beauty  of  Nature  which  is  seen  and 
felt  as  beauty,  is  the  least  part.  The  shows  of 
day,  the  dewy  morning,  the  rainbow,  mountains, 
orchards  in  blossom,  stars,  moonlight,  shadows 
in  still  water,  and  the  like,  if  too  eagerly  hunted, 
become  shows  merely,  and  mock  us  with  their 
unreality.  Go  out  of  the  house  to  see  the  moon, 
and  't  is  mere  tinsel :  it  will  not*  please  as  when 
its  light  shines  upon  your  necessary  journey. 
The  beauty  that  shimmers  in  the  yellow  after 
noons  of  October,  who  ever  could  clutch  it  ?  Go 
forth  to  find  it.  and  it  is  gone  ;  't  is  only  a  mirage 
as  you  look  from  the  windows  of  diligence. 

2.  The  presence  of  a  higher,  namely,  of  the 
spiritual  element  is  essential  to  its  perfection. 
The  high  and  divine  beauty  which  can  be  loved 
without  effeminacy,  is  that  which  is  found  in 
combination  with  the  human  will.  Beauty  is 
the  mark  God  sets  upon  virtue.  Every  natural 
action  is  graceful.  Every  heroic  act  is  also 
decent,  and  causes  the  place  and  the  bystanders 
to  shine.  -We  are  taught  by  great  actions  that 
the  universe  is  the  property  of  every  individual 
2* 


18  BEAUTY. 

in  it.  Every  rational  creature  has  all  nature  for 
his  dowry  and  estate.  It  is  his,  if  he  will.  He 
may  divest  himself  of  it ;  he  may  creep  into  a 
corner,  and  abdicate  his  kingdom,  as  most  men 
do,  but  he  is  entitled  to  the  world  by  his  con 
stitution.  In  proportion  to  the  energy  of  his 
thought  and  will,  he  takes  up  the  world  into 
himself.  "  All  those  things  for  which  men 
plough,  build,  or  sail,  obey  virtue  ;  "  'said  Sallust.  m 
"  The  winds  and  waves,"  said  Gibbon,  "  are 
always  on  the  side  of  the  ablest  navigators." 
So  are  the  sun  and  moon  and  all  the  stars  of 
heaven.  When  -a  noble  act  is  done,  —  perchance 
in  a  scene  of  great  natural  beauty ;  when  Leon- 
idas  and  his  three  hundred  martyrs  consume  one 
day  in  dying,  and  the  sun  and  moon  come  each 
and  look  at  them  once  in  the  steep  defile  of 
Thermopylae  ;  when  Arnold  Winkelried,  in  the 
high  Alps,  under  the  shadow  of  the  avalanche, 
gathers  in  his  side  a  sheaf  of  Austrian  spears  to 
break  the  line  for  his  comrades  ;  are  not  these 
heroes  entitled  to  add  the  beauty  of  the  scene  to 
the  beauty  of  the  deed  ?  When  .the  bark  of 
Columbus  nears  the  shore  of  America;  — before 
it,  the  beach  lined  with  savages,  fleeing  out  of 
all  their  huts  of  cane ;  the  sea  behind ;  and  the 
purple  mountains  of  the  Indian  Archipelago 
around,  can  we  separate  the  man  from  the  living 


BEAUTY.  19 

picture?  Does  not  the  New  World  clothe  his 
form  with  her  palm-groves  and  savannahs  as  fit 
drapery  ?  Ever  does  natural  beauty  steal  in  like 
air,  and  envelope  great  actions.  When  Sir  Harry 
Vane  was  dragged  up  the  Tower-hill,  sitting  on 
a  sled,  to  suffer  death,  as  the  champion  of  the 
English  laws,  one  of  the  multitude  cried  out  to 
him,  "You  never  sate  on  so  glorious  a  seat." 
Charles  II.,  to  intimidate  the  citizens  of  London, 
caused  the  patriot  Lord  Russel  to  be  drawn  in  an 
open  coach,  through  the  principal  streets  of  the 
city,  on  his  way  to  the  scaffold.  "  But,"  his 
biographer  says,  "  the  multitude  imagined  they 
saw  liberty  and  virtue  sitting  by  his  side."  In 
private  places,  among  sordid  objects,  an  act  of 
truth  or  heroism  seems  at  once  to  draw  to  itself 
the  sky  as  its  temple,  the  sun  as  its  cradle. 
Nature  stretches  out  her  arms  to  embrace  man, 
only  let  his  thoughts  be  of  equal  greatness. 
Willingly  does  she  follow  his  steps  with  the  rose 
and  the  violet,  and  bend  her  lines  of  grandeur 
and  grace  to  the  decoration  of  her  darling  child. 
Only  let  his  thoughts  be  of  equal  scope,  and  the 
frame  will  suit  the  picture.  A  virtuous  man  is 
in  unison  with  her  works,  and  makes  the  central 
figure  of  the  visible  sphere.  Homer,  Pindar, 
Socrates,  Phocion,  associate  themselves  fitly  in 
our  memory  with  the  geography  and  climate  of 


20  BEAUTY. 

Greece.  The  visible  heavens  and  earth  sympa 
thize  with  Jesus.  And  in  common  life,  whoso 
ever  has  seen  a  person  of  powerful  character  and 
happy  genius,  will  have  remarked  how  easily  he 
took  all  things  along  with  him,  —  the  persons, 
the  opinions,  and  the  day,  and  nature  became 
ancillary  to  a  man. 

3.  There  is  still  another  aspect  under  which 
the  beauty  of  the  world  maybe  viewed,  namely, 
as  it  becomes  an  object  of  the  intellect.  Beside 
the  relation  of  things  to  virtue,  they  have  a  re 
lation  to  thought.  The  intellect  searches  out 
the  absolute  order  of  things  as  they  stand  in  the 
mind  of  God,  and  without  the  colors  of  affec 
tion.  The  intellectual  and  the  active  powers 
seem  to  succeed  each  other,  and  the  exclusive 
activity  of  the  one,  generates  the  exclusive  ac 
tivity  of  the  other.  There  is  something  un 
friendly  in  each  to  the  other,  but  they  are  like 
the  alternate  periods  of  feeding  and  working  in 
animals ;  each  prepares  and  will  be  followed  by 
the  other.  Therefore  does  beauty,  which,  in 
relation  to  actions,  as  we  have  seen,  comes 
unsought,  and  comes  because  it  is  unsought, 
remain  for  the  apprehension  and  pursuit  of  the 
intellect ;  and  then  again,  in  its  turn,  of  the  active 
power.  Nothing  divine  dies.  All  good  is  eter 
nally  reproductive.  The  beauty  of  nature  re- 


BEAUTY.  21 

forms  itself  in  the  mind,  and  not  for  barren 
contemplation,  but  for  new  creation. 

All  men  are  in  some  degree  impressed  by  the 
face  of  the  world ;  some  men  even  to  delight. 
This  love  of  beauty  is  Taste.  Others  have  the 
same  love  in  such  excess,  that,  not  content  with 
admiring,  they  seek  to  embody  it  in  new  forms. 
The  creation  of  beauty  is  Art. 

The  production  of  a  work  of  art  throws  a 
light  upon  the  mystery  of  humanity.  A  work 
of  art  is  an  abstract  or  epitome  of  the  world. 
It  is  the  result  or  expression  of  nature,  in  min 
iature.  For,  although  the  works  of  nature  are 
innumerable  and  all  different,  the  result  or  the 
expression  of  them  all  is  similar  and  single. 
Nature  is  a  sea  of  forms  radically  alike  and  even 
unique.  A  leaf,  a  sun-beam,  a  landscape,  the 
ocean,  make  an  analogous  impression  on  the 
mind.  What  is  common  to  them  all, — that 
perfectness  and  harmony,  is  beauty.  The  stand 
ard  of  beauty  is  the  entire  circuit  of  natural 
forms,  —  the  totality  of  nature ;  which  the  Ital 
ians  expressed  by  defining  beauty  "  il  piu  nelF 
uno."  Nothing  is  quite  beautiful  alone  :  nothing 
but  is  beautiful  in  the  whole.  A  single  object 
is  only  so  far  beautiful  as  it  suggests  this  uni 
versal  grace.  The  poet,  the  painter,  the  sculptor, 
the  musician,  the  architect,  seek  each  to  concen- 


22  BEAUTY. 

• 

trate  this  radiance  of  the  world  on  one  point, 
and  each  in  his  several  work  to  satisfy  the  love 
of  beauty  which  stimulates  him  to  produce. 
Thus  is  Art,  a  nature  passed  through  the  alembic 
of  man.  Thus  in  art,  does  nature  work  through 
the  will  of  a  man  filled  with  the  beauty  of  her 
first  works. 

The  world  thus  exists  to  the  soul  to  satisfy 
the  desire  of  beauty.  This  element  I  call  an 
ultimate  end.  No  reason  can  be  asked  or  given 
why  the  soul  seeks  beauty.  Beauty,  in  its  larg 
est  and  profoundest  sense,  is  one  expression  for 
the  universe.  God  is  the  all-fair.  Truth,  and 
goodness,  and  beauty,  are  but  different  faces  of 
the  same  All.  But  beauty  in  nature  is  not  ulti 
mate.  It  is  the  herald  of  inward  and  eternal 
beauty,  and  is  not  alone  a  solid  and  satisfactory 
good.  It  must  stand  as  a  part,  and  not  as  yet 
the  last  or  highest  expression  of  the  final  cause 
of  Nature. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

LANGUAGE. 

LANGUAGE  is  a  third  use  which  Nature  sub 
serves  to  man.  Nature  is  the  vehicle  of  thought, 
and  in  a  simple,  double,  and  threefold  degree. 

1.  Words  are  signs  of  natural  facts. 

2.  Particular  natural  facts  are  symbols  of  par 
ticular  spiritual  facts. 

3.  Nature  is  the  symbol  of  spirit. 

1.  Words  are  signs  of  natural  facts.  The 
use  of  natural  history  is  to  give  us  aid  in  super 
natural  history :  the  use  of  the  outer  creation, 
to  give  us  language  for  the  beings  and  changes  of 
the  inward  creation.  Every  word'  which  is  used 
to  express  a  moral  or  intellectual  fact,  if  traced 
to  its  root,  is  found  to  be  borrowed  from  some 
material  appearance.  Right  means  straight; 
wrong  means  twisted.  Spirit  primarily  means 
u'ind;  transgression,  the  crossing  of  a  line; 
supercilious,  the  raising  of  the  eyebrow.  We 
say  the  heart  to  express  emotion,  the  head  to 
denote  thought ;  and  thought  and  emotion  are 
words  borrowed  from  sensible  things,  and  now 


24  LANGUAGE. 

appropriated  to  spiritual  nature.  Most  of  the 
process  by  which  this  transformation  is  made, 
is  hidden  from  us  in  the  remote  time  when 
.language  was  framed ;  but  the  same  tendency 
may  be  daily  observed  in  children.  Children 
and  savages  use  only  nouns  or  names  of  things, 
which  they  convert  into  verbs,  and  apply  to 
analogous  mental  acts. 

2.  But  this  origin  of  all  words  that  convey  a 
spiritual  import,  —  so  conspicuous  a  fact  in  the 
history  of  language,  —  is  our  least  debt  to  nature. 
It  is  not  words  only  that  are  emblematic ;  it  is 
things  which  are  emblematic.  Every  natural 
fact  is  a  symbol  of  some  spiritual  fact.  Every 
appearance  in  nature  corresponds  to  some  state 
of  the  mind,  and  that  state  of  the  mind  can 
only  be  described  by  presenting  that  natural 
appearance  as  its  picture.  An  enraged  man  is  a 
lion,  a  cunning  man  is  a  fox,  a  firm  man  is  a 
rock,  a  learned  man  is  a  torch.  A  lamb  is  inno 
cence  ;  a  snake  is  subtle  spite ;  flowers  express 
to  us  the  delicate  affections.  Light  and  dark 
ness  are  our  familiar  expression  for  knowledge 
and  ignorance ;  and  heat  for  love.  Visible  dis 
tance  behind  and  before  us,  is  respectively  our 
image  of  memory  and  hope. 

Who  looks  upon  a  river  in  a  meditative  hour, 
and  is  not  reminded  of  the  flux  of  all  things? 


LANGUAGE.  25 

Throw  a  stone  into  the  stream,  and  the  circles 
that  propagate  themselves  are  the  beautiful  type 
of  all  influence.  Man  is  conscious  of  a  univer 
sal  soul  within  or  behind  his  individual  life, 
wherein,  as  in  a  firmament,  the  natures  of 
Justice,  Truth,  Love,  Freedom,  arise  and  shine. 
This  universal  soul,  he  calls  Reason :  it  is  not 
mine,  or  thine,  or  his,  but  we  are  its ;  we  are  its 
property  and  men.  And  the  blue  sky  in  which 
the  private  earth  is  buried,  the  sky  with  its 
eternal  calm,  and  full  of  everlasting  orbs,  is  the 
type  of  Reason.  That  which,  intellectually 
considered,  we  call  Reason,  considered  in  rela 
tion  to  nature,  we  call  Spirit.  Spirit  is  the 
Creator.  Spirit  hath  life  in  itself.  And  man  in 
all  ages  and  countries,  embodies  it  in  his  lan 
guage,  as  the  FATHER. 

It  is  easily  seen  that  there  is  nothing  lucky  or 
capricious  in  these  analogies,  but  that  they  are 
constant,  and  pervade  nature.  These  are  not 
the  dreams  of  a  few  poets,  here  and  there,  but 
man  is  an  analogist,  and  studies  relations  in  all 
objects.  He  is  placed  in  the  centre  of  beings, 
and  a  ray  of  relation  passes  from  every  other 
being  to  him.  And  neither  can  man  be  under 
stood  without  these  objects,  nor  these  objects 
without  man.  All  the  facts  in  natural  history 
taken  by  themselves,  have  no  value,  but  are 
3 


26  LANGUAGE. 

• 

barren,  like  a  single  sex.  But  marry  it  to  human 
history,  and  it  is  full  of  life.  Whole  Floras,  all 
Linnaeus'  and  BufFon's  volumes,  are  dry  cata 
logues  of  facts ;  but  the  most  trival  of  these 
facts,  the  habit  of  a  plant,  the  organs,  or  work, 
or  noise  of  an  insect,  applied  to  the  illustration 
of  a  fact  in  intellectual  philosophy,  or,  in  any 
way  associated  to  human  nature,  affects  us  in 
the  most  lively  and  agreeable  manner.  The  seed 
of  a  plant,  —  to  what  affecting  analogies  in  the 
nature  of  man,  is  that  little  fruit  made  use  of,  in 
all  discourse,  up  to  the  voice  of  Paul,  who  calls 
the  human  corpse  a  seed,  —  "  It  is  sown  a  natural 
body ;  it  is  raised  a  spiritual  body."  The  motion 
of  the  earth  round  its  axis,  and  round  the  sun, 
makes  the  day,  and  the  year.  These  are  cer 
tain  amounts  of  brute  light  and  heat.  But  is 
there  no  intent  of  an  analogy  between  man's  life 
and  the  seasons  ?  And  do  the  seasons  gain  no 
grandeur  or  pathos  from  that  analogy  ?  The 
instincts  of  the  ant  are  very  unimportant,  con 
sidered  as  the  ant's ;  but  the  moment  a  ray  of 
relation  is  seen  to  extend  from  it  to  man,  and  the 
little  drudge  is  seen  to  be  a  monitor,  a  little  body 
with  a  mighty  heart,  then  all  its  habits,  even 
that  said  to  be  recently  observed,  that  it  never 
sleeps,  become  sublime. 

Because  of  tins  radical  correspondence  between 


LANGUAGE.  27 

visible  things  and  human  thoughts,  savages,  who 
have  only  what  is  necessary,  converse  in  figures. 
As  we  go  back  in  history,  language  becomes 
more  picturesque,  until  its  infancy,  when  it  is 
all  poetry ;  or  all  spiritual  facts  are  represented 
by  natural  symbols.  The  same  symbols  are 
found  to  make  the  original  elements  of  all  lan 
guages.  It  has  moreover  been  observed,  that  the 
idioms  of  all  languages  approach  each  other  in 
passages  of  the  greatest  eloquence  and  power. 
And  as  this  is  the  first  language,  so  is  it  the  last. 
This  immediate  dependence  of  language  upon 
nature,  this  conversion  of  an  outward  phenom 
enon  into  a  type  of  somewhat  in  human  life, 
never  loses  its  power  to  affect  us.  It  is  this 
which  gives  that  piquancy  to  the  conversation 
of  a  strong-natured  farmer  or  back-woodsman, 
which  all  men  relish. 

A  man's  power  to  connect  his  thought  with 
its  proper  symbol,  and  so  to  utter  it,  depends  on 
the  simplicity  of  his  character,  that  is,  upon  his 
love  of  truth,  and  his  desire  to  communicate  it 
without  loss.  The  corruption  of  man  is  followed 
by  the  corruption  of  language.  When  simplicity 
of  character  and  the  sovereignty  of  ideas  is 
broken  up  by  the  prevalence  of  secondary 
desires,  the  desire  of  riches,  of  pleasure,  of 
power,  and  of  praise,  —  and  duplicity  and  false- 


28  LANGUAGE. 

hood  take  place  of  simplicity  and  truth,  the 
power  over  nature  as  an  interpreter  of  the  will, 
is  in  a  degree  lost ;  new  imagery  ceases  to  be 
created,  and  old  words  are  perverted  to  stand 
for  things  which  are  not ;  a  paper  currency  is 
employed,  when  there  is  no  bullion  in  the  vaults. 
In  due  time,  the  fraud  is  manifest,  and  words 
lose  all  power  to  stimulate  the  understanding  or 
the  affections.  Hundreds  of  writers  may  be 
found  in  every  long-civilized  nation,  who  for  a 
short  time  believe,  and  make  others  believe,  that 
they  see  and  utter  truths,  who  do  not  of  them 
selves  clothe  one  thought  in  its  natural  garment, 
but  who  feed  unconsciously  on  the  language 
created  by  the  primary  writers  of  the  country, 
those,  namely,  who  hold  primarily  on  nature. 

But  wise  men  pierce  this  rotten  diction  and 
fasten  words  again  to  visible  things ;  so  that 
picturesque  language  is  at  once  a  commanding 
certificate  that  he  who  employs  it,  is  a  man  in 
alliance  with  truth  and  God.  The  moment  our 
discourse  rises  above  the  ground  line  of  familiar 
facts,  and  is  inflamed  with  passion  or  exalted  by 
thought,  it  clothes  itself  in  images.  A  man  con 
versing  in  earnest,  if  he  watch  his  intellectual 
processes,  will  find  that  a  material  image,  more 
or  less  luminous,  arises  in  his  mind,  contempora 
neous  with  every  thought,  which  furnishes  the 


LANGUAGE.  29 

vestment  of  the  thought.  Hence,  good  writing 
and  brilliant  discourse  are  perpetual  allegories. 
This  imagery  is  spontaneous.  It  is  the  blending 
of  experience  with  the  present  action  of  the 
mind.  It  is  proper  creation.  It  is  the  working 
of  the  Original  Cause  through  the  instruments 
he  has  already  made. 

These  facts  may  suggest  the  advantage  which 
the  country-life  possesses  for  a  powerful  mind, 
over  the  artificial  and  curtailed  life  of  cities.  We 
know  more  from  nature  than  we  can  at  will  com 
municate.  Its  light  flows  into  the  mind  ever 
more,  and  we  forget  its  presence.  The  poet,  the 
orator,  bred  in  the  woods,  whose  senses  have 
been  nourished  by  their  fair  and  appeasing 
changes,  year  after  year,  without  design  and 
without  heed,  —  shall  not  lose  their  lesson  al 
together,  in  the  roar  of  cities  or  the  broil  of 
politics.  Long  hereafter,  amidst  agitation  and 
terror  in  national  councils,  —  in  the  hour  of  rev 
olution, —  these  solemn  images  shall  reappear  in 
their  morning  lustre,  as  fit  symbols  and  words  of 
the  thoughts  which  the  passing  events  shall 
awaken.  At  the  call  of  a  noble  sentiment,  again 
the  woods  wave,  the  pines  murmur,  the  river 
rolls  and  shines,  and  the  cattle  low  upon  the 
mountains,  as  he  saw  and  heard  them  in  his 
infancy.  And  with  these  forms,  the  spells  of 
3* 


30  LANGUAGE. 

persuasion,  the  keys  of  power  are  put  into  his 
hands. 

3.  We  are  thus  assisted  by  natural  objects  in 
the  expression  of  particular  meanings.  But  how 
great  a  language  to  convey  such  pepper-corn 
informations !  Did  it  need  such  noble  races  of 
creatures,  this  profusion  of  forms,  this  host  of 
orbs  in  heaven,  to  furnish  man  with  the  diction 
ary  and  grammar  of  his  municipal  speech  ? 
Whilst  we  use  this  grand  cipher  to  expedite  the 
affairs  of  our  pot  and  kettle,  we  feel  that  we 
have  not  yet  put  it  to  its  use,  neither  are  able. 
We  are  like  travellers  using  the  cinders  of  a 
volcano  to  roast  their  eggs.  Whilst  we  see  that 
it  always  stands  ready  to  clothe  what  we  would 
say,  we  cannot  avoid  the  question,  whether  the 
characters  are  not  significant  of  themselves.  Have 
mountains,  and  waves,  and  skies,  no  significance 
but  what  we  consciously  give  them,  when  we 
employ  them 'as  emblems  of  our  thoughts  ?  The 
world  is  emblematic.  Parts  of  speech  are  met 
aphors,  because  the  whole  of  nature  is  a  meta 
phor  of  the  human  mind.  The  laws  of  moral 
nature  answer  to  those  of  matter  as  face  to  face 
in  a  glass.  "  The  visible  world  and  the  relation 
of  its  parts,  is  the  dial  plate  of  the  invisible." 
The  axioms  of  physics  translate  the  laws  of 
ethics.  Thus,  "the  whole  is  greater  than  its 


LANGUAGE.  31 

part ; "  "  reaction  is  equal  to  action ; "  "  the 
smallest  weight  may  be  made  to  lift  the  greatest, 
the  difference  of  weight  being  compensated  by 
time ; "  and  many  the  like  propositions,  which 
have  an  ethical  as  well  as  physical  sense.  These 
propositions  have  a  much  more  extensive  and 
universal  sense  when  applied  to  human  life,  than 
when  confined  to  technical  use. 

In  like  manner,  the  memorable  words  of  his 
tory,  and  the  proverbs  of  nations,  consist  usually 
of  a  natural  fact,  selected  as  a  picture  or  parable 
of  a  moral  truth.  Thus ;  A  rolling  stone  gathers 
no  moss ;  A  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the 
bush ;  A  cripple  in  the  right  way,  will  beat  a 
racer  in  the  wrong;  Make  hay  while  the  sun 
shines;  JT  is  hard  to  carry  a  full  cup  even; 
Vinegar  is  the  son  of  wine ;  The  last  ounce 
broke  the  camel's  back;  Long-lived  trees  make 
roots  first ;  —  and  the  like.  In  their  primary 
sense  these  are  trivial  facts,  but  we  repeat  them 
for  the  value  of  their  analogical  import.  What 
is  true  of  proverbs,  is  true  of  all  fables,  parables, 
and  allegories. 

This  relation  between  the  mind  and  matter  is 
not  fancied  by  some  poet,  but  stands  in  the  will 
of  God,  and  so  is  free  to  be  known  by  all  men. 
It  appears  to  men,  or  it  does  not  appear.  When 
in  fortunate  hours  we  ponder  this  miracle,  the 


32  LANGUAGE. 

wise  man  doubts,  if,  at  all  other  times,  he  is  not 
blind  and  deaf; 


-  "  Can  these  things  be, 


And  overcome  us  like  a  summer's  cloud, 
Without  our  special  wonder  ?  " 

for  the  universe  becomes  transparent,  and  the 
light  of  higher  laws  than  its  own,  shines  through 
it.  It  is  the  standing  problem  which  has  exer 
cised  the  wonder  and  the  study  of  every  fine 
genius  since  the  world  began ;  from  the  era  of 
the  Egyptians  and  the  Brahmins,  to  that  of 
Pythagoras,  of  Plato,  of  Bacon,  of  Leibnitz,  of 
Swedenborg.  There  sits  the  Sphinx  at  the 
road-side,  and  from  age  to  age,  as  each  prophet 
comes  by,  he  tries  his  fortune  at  reading  her  rid 
dle.  There  seems  to  be  a  necessity  in  spirit  to 
manifest  itself  in  material  forms ;  and  day  and 
night,  river  and  storm,  beast  and  bird,  acid  and 
alkali,  preexist  in  necessary  Ideas  in  the  mind  of 
God,  and  are  what  they  are  by  virtue  of  pre 
ceding  affections,  in  the  world  of  spirit.  A  Fact 
is  the  end  or  last  issue  of  spirit.  The  visible 
creation  is  the  terminus  or  the  circumference  of 
the  invisible  world.  "  Material  objects,"  said  a 
French  philosopher,  "  are  necessarily  kinds  of 
scoria  of  the  substantial  thoughts  of  the  Creator, 
which  must  always  preserve  an  exact  relation  to 


LANGUAGE.  33 

their  first  origin  ;  in  other  words,  visible  nature 
must  have  a  spiritual  and  moral  side." 

This  doctrine  is  abstruse,  and  though  the 
images  of  "  garment,"  "  scoriae,"  "  mirror,"  &c., 
may  stimulate  the  fancy,  we  must  summon  the 
aid  of  subtler  and  more  vital  expositors  to  make 
it  plain.  "  Every  scripture  is  to  be  interpreted 
by  the  same  spirit  which  gave  it  forth,"  —  is  the 
fundamental  law  of  criticism.  A  life  in  harmony 
with  nature,  the  love  of  truth  and  of  virtue,  will 
purge  the  eyes  to  understand  her  text.  By 
degrees  we  may  come  to  know  the  primitive 
sense  of  the  permanent  objects  of  nature,  so  that 
the  world  shall  be  to  us  an  open  book,  and  every 
form  significant  of  its  hidden  life  and  final  cause. 

A  new  interest  surprises  us,  whilst,  under  the 
view  now  suggested,  we  contemplate  the  fearful 
extent  and  multitude  of  objects ;  since  "  every 
object  rightly  seen,  unlocks  a  new  faculty  of  the 
soul."  That  which  was  unconscious  truth,  be 
comes,  when  interpreted  and  defined  in  an  object, 
a  part  of  the  domain  of  knowledge,  —  a  new 
weapon  in  the  magazine  of  power. 


CHAPTER    V. 

DISCIPLINE. 

IN  view  of  the  significance  of  nature,  we 
arrive  at  once  at  a  new  fact,  that  nature  is  a 
discipline.  This  use  of  the  world  includes  the 
preceding  uses,  as  parts  of  itself. 

Space,  time,  society,  labor,  climate,  food,  loco 
motion,  the  animals,  the  mechanical  forces,  give 
us  sincerest  lessons,  day  by  day,  whose  meaning 
is  unlimited.  They  educate  both  the  Under 
standing  and  the  Reason.  Every  property  of 
matter  is  a  school  for  the  understanding, —  its 
solidity  or  resistance,  its  inertia,  its  extension,  its 
figure,  its  divisibility.  The  understanding  adds, 
divides,  combines,  measures,  and  finds  nutriment 
and  room  for  its  activity  in  this  worthy  scene. 
Meantime,  Reason  transfers  all  these  lessons  into 
its  own  world  of  thought,  by  perceiving  the 
analogy  that  marries  Matter  and  Mind. 

1.  Nature  is  a  discipline  of  the  understanding 
in  intellectual  truths.  Our  dealing  with  sensible 
objects  is  a  constant  exercise  in  the  necessary 
lessons  of  difference,  of  likeness,  of  order,  of 


DISCIPLINE.  35 

being  and  seeming,  of  progressive  arrangement; 
of  assent  from  particular  to  general ;  of  combi 
nation  to  one  end  of  manifold  forces.  Propor 
tioned  to  the  importance  of  the  organ  to  be 
formed,  is  the  extreme  care  with  which  its  tui 
tion  is  provided,  —  a  care  pretermitted  in  no 
single  case.  What  tedious  training,  day  after 
day,  year  after  year,  never  ending,  to  form  the 
common  sense  ;  what  continual  reproduction  of 
annoyances,  inconveniences,  dilemmas  ;  what  re 
joicing  over  us  of  little  men  ;  what  disputing  of 
prices,  what  reckonings  of  interest,  —  and  all  to 
form  the  Hand  of  the  mind ;  —  to  instruct  us 
that  "  good  thoughts  are  no  better  than  good 
dreams,  unless  they  be  executed !  " 

The  same  good  office  is  performed  by  Pro 
perty  and  its  filial  systems  of  debt  and  credit. 
Debt,  grinding  debt,  whose  iron  face  the  widow, 
the  orphan,  and  the  sons  of  genius  fear  and 
hate  ;  —  debt,  which  consumes  so  much  time, 
which  so  cripples  and  disheartens  a  great  spirit 
with  cares  that  seem  so  base,  is  a  preceptor 
whose  lessons  cannot  be  forgone,  and  is  needed 
most  by  those  who  suffer  from  it  most.  More 
over,  property,  which  has  been  well  compared  to 
snow,  —  "  if  it  fall  level  to-day,  it  will  be  blown 
into  drifts  to-morrow,"  —  is  the  surface  action  of 
internal  machinery,  like  the  index  on  the  face  of 


36  DISCIPLINE. 

a  clock.  Whilst  now  it  is  the  gymnastics  of  the 
understanding,  it  is  having  in  the  foresight  of 
the  spirit,  experience  in  profounder  laws. 

The  whole  character  and  fortune  of  the  indi 
vidual  are  affected  by  the  least  inequalities  in 
the  culture  of  the  understanding ;  for  example, 
in  the  perception  of  differences.  Therefore  is 
Space,  and  therefore  Time,  that  man  may 
know  that  things  are  not  huddled  and  lumped, 
but  sundered  and  individual.  A  bell  and  a 
plough  have  each  their  use,  and  neither  can  do 
the  office  of  the  other.  Water  is  good  to  drink, 
coal  to  burn,  wool  to  wear ;  but  wool  cannot  be 
drunk,  nor  water  spun,  nor  coal  eaten.  The  wise 
man  shows  his  wisdom  in  separation,  in  grada 
tion,  and  his  scale  of  creatures  arid  of  merits  is 
as  wide  as  nature.  The  foolish  have  no  range 
in  their  scale,  but  suppose  every  man  is  as  every 
other  man.  What  is  not  good  they  call  the  worst, 
and  what  is  not  hateful,  they  call  the  best. 

In  like  manner,  what  good  heed  nature  forms 
in  us !  She  pardons  no  mistakes.  Her  yea  is 
yea,  and  her  nay,  nay. 

The  first  steps  in  Agriculture,  Astronomy, 
Zoology,  (those  first  steps  which  the  farmer,  the 
hunter,  and  the  sailor  take,)  teach  that  nature's 
dice  are  always  loaded ;  that  in  her  heaps  and 
rubbish  are  concealed  sure  and  useful  results. 


DISCIPLINE.  37 

How  calmly  and  genially  the  mind  apprehends 
one  after  another  the  laws  of  physics !  What 
noble  emotions  dilate  the  mortal  as  he  enters 
into  the  counsels  of  the  creation,  and  feels  by 
knowledge  the  privilege,  to  BE  !  His  insight  re 
fines  him.  The  beauty  of  nature  shines  in  his 
own  breast.  Man  is  greater  than  he  can  see  this, 
and  the  universe  less,  because  Time  and  Space 
relations  vanish  as  laws  are  known. 

Here  again  we  are  impressed  and  even  daunted 
by  the  immense  Universe  to  be  explored.  "  What 
we  know,  is  a  point  to  what  we  do  not  know." 
Open  any  recent  journal  of  science,  and  weigh 
the  problems  suggested  concerning  Light,  Heat, 
Electricity,  Magnetism,  Physiology,  Geology, 
and  judge  whether  the  interest  of  natural  sci 
ence  is  likely  to  be  soon  exhausted. 

Passing  by  many  particulars  of  the  discipline 
of  nature,  we  must  not  omit  to  specify  two. 

The  exercise  of  the  Will  or  the  lesson  of 
power  is  taught  in  every  event.  From  the 
child's  successive  possession  of  his  several  senses 
up  to  the  hour  when  he  saith,  "  Thy  will  be 
done  ! "  he  is  learning  the  secret,  that  he  can 
reduce  under  his  will,  not  only  particular  events, 
but  great  classes,  nay  the  whole  series  of  events, 
and  so  conform  all  facts  to  his  character.  Nature 
is  thoroughly  mediate.  It  is  made  to  serve.  It 
4 


38  DISCIPLINE. 

receives  the  dominion  of  man  as  meekly  as  the 
ass  on  which  the  Saviour  rode.  It  offers  all  its 
kingdoms  to  man  as  the  raw  material  which  he 
may  mould  into  what  is  useful.  Man  is  never 
weary  of  working  it  up.  He  forges  the  subtile 
and  delicate  air  into  wise  and  melodious  words, 
and  gives  them  wing  as  angels  of  persuasion  and 
command.  One  after  another,  his  victorious 
thought  comes  up  with  and  reduces  all  things, 
until  the  world  becomes,  at  last,  only  a  realized 
will,  —  the  double  of  the  man. 

2.  Sensible  objects  conform  to  the  premoni 
tions  of  Reason  and  reflect  the  conscience.  All 
things  are  moral ;  and  in  their  boundless  changes 
have  an  unceasing  reference  to  spiritual  nature. 
Therefore  is  nature  glorious  with  form,  color, 
and  motion,  that  every  globe  in  the  remotest 
heaven ;  every  chemical  change  from  the  rudest 
crystal  up  to  the  laws  of  life  ;  every  change  of 
vegetation  from  the  first  principle  of  growth  in 
the  eye  of  a  leaf,  to  the  tropical  forest  and  ante 
diluvian  coal-mine  ;  every  animal  function  from 
the  sponge  up  to  Hercules,  shall  hint  or  thunder 
to  man  the  laws  of  right  and  wrong,  and  echo 
the  Ten  Commandments.  Therefore  is  nature 
ever  the  ally  of  Religion :  lends  all  her  pomp 
and  riches  to  the  religious  sentiment.  Prophet 
and  priest,  David,  Isaiah,  Jesus,  have  drawn 


DISCIPLINE.  39 

deeply  from  this  source.  This  ethical  character 
so  penetrates  the  bone  and  marrow  of  nature,  as 
to  seem  the  end  for  which  it  was  made.  What 
ever  private  purpose  is  answered  by  any  member 
or  part,  this  is  its  public  and  universal  function, 
and  is  never  omitted.  Nothing  in  nature  is  ex 
hausted  in  its  first  use.  When  a  thing  has  served 
an  end  to  the  uttermost,  it  is  wholly  new  for  an 
ulterior  service.  In  God,  every  end  is  converted 
into  a  new  means.  Thus  the  use  of  commodity, 
regarded  by  itself,  is  mean  and  squalid.  But  it 
is  to  the  mind  an  education  in  the  doctrine  of " 
Use,  namely,  that  a  thing  is  good  only  so  far  as 
it  serves ;  that  a  conspiring  of  parts  and  efforts 
to  the  production  of  an  endj  is  essential  to  any 
being.  The  first  and  gross  manifestation  of  this 
truth,  is  our  inevitable  and  hated  training  in 
values  and  wants,  in  corn  and  meat. 

It  has  already  been  illustrated,  that  every  nat 
ural  process  is  a  version  of  a  moral  sentence. 
The  moral  law  lies  at  the  centre  of  nature  and 
radiates  to  the  circumference.  It  is  the  pith  and 
marrow  of  every  substance,  every  relation,  and 
every  process.  All  things  with  which  we  deal, 
preach -to  us.  What  is  a  farm  but  a  mute  gos 
pel?  The  chaff  and  the  wheat,  weeds  and 
plants,  blight,  rain,  insects,  sun,  —  it  is  a  sacred 
emblem  from  the  first  furrow  of  spring  to  the 


40  DISCIPLINE. 

last  stack  which  the  snow  of  winter  overtakes 
in  the  fields.  But  the  sailor,  the  shepherd,  the 
miner,  the  merchant,  in  their  several  resorts, 
have  each  an  experience  precisely  parallel,  and 
leading  to  the  same  conclusion:  because  all 
organizations  are  radically  alike.  Nor  can  it  be 
doubted  that  this  moral  sentiment  which  thus 
scents  the  air,  grows  in  the  grain,  and  impreg 
nates  the  waters  of  the  world,  is  caught  by 
man  and  sinks  into  his  soul.  The  moral  influ 
ence  of  nature  upon  every  individual  is  that 
amount  of  truth  which  it  illustrates  to  him. 
Who  can  estimate  this  ?  "Who  can  guess  how 
much  firmness  the  sea-beaten  rock  has  taught 
the  fisherman  ?  how  much  tranquillity  has  been 
reflected  to  man  from  the  azure  sky,  over  whose 
unspotted  deeps  the  winds  forevermore  drive 
flocks  of  stormy  clouds,  and  leave  no  wrinkle 
or  stain  ?  how  much  industry  and  providence 
and  affection  we  have  caught  from  the  panto 
mime  of  .brutes  ?  What  a  searching  preacher  of 
self-command  is  the  varying  phenomenon  of 
Health ! 

Herein  is  especially  apprehended  the  unity  of 
Nature,  —  the  unity  in  variety,  —  which  meets 
us  everywhere.  All  the  endless  variety  of  things 
make  an  identical  impression.  Xenophanes 
complained  in  his  old  age,  that,  look  where  he 


DISCIPLINE.  41 

would,  all  things  hastened  back  to  Unity.  He 
was  weary  of  seeing  the  same  entity  in  the 
tedious  variety  of  forms.  The  fable  of  Proteus 
has  a  cordial  truth.  A  leaf,  a  drop,  a  crystal,  a 
moment  of  time  is  related  to  the  whole,  and 
partakes  of  the  perfection  of  the  whole.  Each 
particle  is  a  microcosm,  and  faithfully  renders 
the  likeness  of  the  world. 

Not  only  resemblances  exist  in  things  whose 
analogy  is  obvious,  as  when  we  detect  the  type 
of  the  human  hand  in  the  flipper  of  the  fossil 
saurus,  but  also  in  objects  wherein  there  is  great 
superficial  unlikeness.  Thus  architecture  is  called 
"  frozen  music,"  by  De  Stael  and  Goethe.  Vitru- 
vius  thought  an  architect  should  be  a  musician. 
"  A  Gothic  church,"  said  Coleridge,  "  is  a  petrified 
religion."  Michael  Angelo  maintained,  that,  to 
an  architect,  a  knowledge  of  anatomy  is  essen 
tial.  In  Hayden's  oratories,  the  notes  present  to 
the  imagination  not  only  motions,  as,  of  the 
snake,  the  stag,  and  the  elephant,  but  colors 
also  ;  as  the  green  grass.  The  law  of  harmonic 
sounds  reappears  in  the  harmonic  colors.  The 
granite  is  differenced  in  its  laws  only  by  the 
more  or  less  of  heat,  from  the  river  that  wears  it 
away.  The  river,  as  it  flows,  resembles  the 
air  that  flows  over  it ;  the  air  resembles  the 
light  which  traverses  it  with  more  subtile  cur- 
4* 


42  DISCIPLINE. 

rents ;  the  light  resembles  the  heat  which  rides 
with  it  through  Space.  Each  creature  is  only  a 
modification  of  the  other;  the  likeness  in  them 
is  more  than  the  difference,  and  their  radical  law 
is  one  and  the  same.  A  rule  of  one  art,  or  a  law 
of  one  organization,  holds  true  throughout  nature. 
So  intimate  is  this  Unity,  that,  it  is  easily  seen, 
it  lies  under  the  undermost  garment  of  nature, 
and  betrays  its  source  in  Universal  Spirit.  For, 
it  pervades  Thought  also.  Every  universal  truth 
which  we  express  in  words,  implies  or  supposes 
every  other  truth.  Omne  verum  vero  consonat. 
It  is  like  a  great  circle  on  a  sphere,  comprising 
all  possible  circles;  which,  however,  may  be 
drawn,  and  comprise  it,  in  like  manner.  "Every 
such  truth  is  the  absolute  Ens  seen  from  one 
side.  But  it  has  innumerable  sides. 

The  central  Unity  is  still  more  conspicuous  in 
actions.  Words  are  finite  organs  of  the  infinite 
mind.  They  cannot  cover  the  dimensions  of 
what  is  in  truth.  They  break,  chop,  and  im 
poverish  it.  An  action  is  the  perfection  and 
publication  of  thought.  A  right  action  seems  to 
fill  the  eye,  and  to  be  related  to  all  nature. 
"  The  wise  man,  in  doing  one  thing,  does  all ; 
or,  in  the  one  thing  he  does  rightly,  he  "sees  the 
likeness  of  all  which  is  done  rightly." 

Words  and  actions  are  not  the  attributes  of 


DISCIPLINE.  43 

brute  nature.  They  introduce  us  to  the  human 
form,  of  which  all  other  organizations  appear  to 
be  degradations.  When  this  appears  among  so 
many  that  surround  it,  the  spirit  prefers  it  to 
all  others.  It  says,  *  From  such  as  this,  have  I 
drawn  joy  and  knowledge  ;  in  such  as  this,  have 
I  found  and  beheld  myself;  I  will  speak  to  it; 
it  can  speak  again;  it  can  yield  me  thought 
already  formed  and  alive.'  In  fact,  the  eye, — 
the  mind,  —  is  always  accompanied  by  these 
forms,  male  and  female ;  and  these  are  incom 
parably  the  richest  informations  of  the  power 
and  order  that  lie  at  the  heart  of  things.  Unfor 
tunately,  every  one  of  them  bears  the  marks 
as  of  some  injury;  is  marred  and  superficially 
defective.  Nevertheless,  far  different  from  the 
deaf  and  dumb  nature  around  them,  these  all 
rest  like  fountain-pipes  on  the  unfathomed  sea  of 
thought  and  virtue  whereto  they  alone,  of  ah1 
organizations,  are  the  entrances. 

It  were  a  pleasant  inquiry  to  follow  into  detail 
their  ministry  to  our  education,  but  where  would 
it  stop  ?  We  are  associated  in  adolescent  and 
adult  life  with  some  friends,  who,  like  skies  and 
waters,  are  coextensive  with  our  idea ;  who, 
answering  each  to  a  certain  affection  of  the  soul, 
satisfy  our  desire  on ,  that  side  ;  whom  we  lack 
power  to  put  at  such  focal  distance  from  us,  that 


44  DISCIPLINE. 

we  can  mend  or  even  analyze  them.  We  cannot 
choose  but  love  them.  When  much  intercourse 
with  a  friend  has  supplied  us  with  a  standard  of 
excellence,  and  has  increased  our  respect  for  the 
resources  of  God  who  thus  sends  a  real  person 
to  outgo  our  ideal ;  when  he  has,  moreover, 
become  an  object  of  thought,  and,  whilst  his 
character  retains  all  its  unconscious  effect,  is 
converted  in  the  mind  into  solid  and  sweet  wis 
dom,  —  it  is  a  sign  to  us  that  his  office  is  closing, 
and  he  is  commonly  withdrawn  from  our  sight 
in  a  short  time. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IDEALISM. 

THUS  is  the  unspeakable  but  intelligible  and 
practicable  meaning  of  the  world  conveyed  to 
man,  the  immortal  pupil,  in  every  object  of  sense. 
To  this  one  end  of  Discipline,  all  parts  of  nature 
conspire. 

A  noble  doubt  perpetually  suggests  itself, 
whether  this  end  be  not  the  Final  Cause  of  the 
Universe  ;  and  whether  nature  outwardly  exists. 
It  is  a  sufficient  account  of  that  Appearance  we 
call  the  World,  that  God  will  teach  a  human 
mind,  and  so  makes  it  the  receiver  of  a  certain 
number  of  congruent  sensations,  which  we  call 
sun  and  moon,  man  and  woman,  house  and  trade. 
In  my  utter  impotence  to  test  the  authenticity 
of  the  report  of  my  senses,  to  know  whether 
the  impressions  they  make  on  me  correspond 
with  outlying  objects,  what  difference  does  it 
make,  whether  Orion  is  up  there  in  heaven,  or 
some  god  paints  the  image  in  the  firmament  of 
the  soul  ?  The  relations  of  parts  and  the  end  of 
the  whole  remaining  the  same,  what  is  the  dif- 


46  IDEALISM. 

ference,  whether  land  and  sea  interact,  and  worlds 
revolve  and  intermingle  without  number  or  end, 
—  deep  yawning  under  deep,  and  galaxy  balan 
cing  galaxy,  throughout  absolute  space,  —  or, 
whether,  without  relations  of  time  and  space, 
the  same  appearances  are  inscribed  in  the  con 
stant  faith  of  man  ?  Whether  nature  enjoy  a 
substantial  existence  without,  or  is  only  in  the 
apocalypse  of  the  mind,  it  is  alike  useful  and 
alike  venerable  to  me.  Be  it  what  it  may,  it  is 
ideal  to  me,  so  long  as  I  cannot  try  the  accuracy 
of  my  senses. 

The  frivolous  make  themselves  merry  with  the 
Ideal  theory,  as  if  its  consequences  were  bur 
lesque  ;  as  if  it  affected  the  stability  of  nature. 
It  surely  does  not.  God  never  jests  with  us,  and 
will  not  compromise  the  end  of  nature,  by  per 
mitting  any  inconsequence  in  its  procession.  Any 
distrust  of  the  permanence  of  laws,  would  par 
alyze  the  faculties  of  man.  Their  permanence 
is  sacredly  respected,  and  his  faith  therein  is 
perfect.  The  wheels  and  springs  of  man  are  all 
set  to  the  hypothesis  of  the  permanence  of  na 
ture.  We  are  not  built  like  a  ship  to  be  tossed, 
but  like  a  house  to  stand.  It  is  a  natural  conse 
quence  of  this  structure,  that,  so  long  as  the 
active  powers  predominate  over  the  reflective,  we 
resist  with  indignation  any  hint  that  nature  is 


IDEALISM.  47 

more  short-lived  or  mutable  than  spirit.  The 
broker,  the  wheelwright,  the  carpenter,  the  toll 
man,  are  much  displeased  at  the  intimation. 

But  whilst  we  acquiesce  entirely  in  the  per 
manence  of  natural  laws,  the  question  of  the 
absolute  existence  of  nature  still  remains  open. 
It  is  the  uniform  effect  of  culture  on  the  human 
mind,  not  to  shake  our  faith  in  the  stability  of 
particular  phenomena,  as  of  heat,  water,  azote  ; 
but  to  lead  us  to  regard  nature  as  phenomenon, 
not  a  substance  ;  to  attribute  necessary  existence 
to  spirit ;  to  esteem  nature  as  an  accident  and  an 
effect. 

To  the  senses  and  the  unrenewed  understand 
ing,  belongs  a  sort  of  instinctive  belief  in  the 
absolute  existence  of  nature.  In  their  view, 
man  and  nature  are  indissolubly  joined.  Things 
are  ultimates,  and  they  never  look  beyond  their 
sphere.  The  presence  of  Reason  mars  this 
faith.  The  first  effort  of  thought  tends  to  relax 
this  despotism  of  the  senses,  which  binds  us  to 
nature  as  if  we  were  a  part  of  it,  and  shows  us 
nature  aloof,  and,  as  it  were,  afloat.  Until  this 
higher  agency  intervened,  the  animal  eye  sees, 
with  wonderful  accuracy,  sharp  outlines  and  col 
ored  surfaces.  When  the  eye  of  Reason  opens, 
to  outline  and  surface  are  at  once  added,  grace 
and  expression.  These  proceed  from  imagina- 


48  IDEALISM. 

tion  and  affection,  and  abate  somewhat  of  the 
angular  distinctness  of  objects.  If  the  Reason 
be  stimulated  to  more  earnest  vision,  outlines 
and  surfaces  become  transparent,  and  are  no 
longer  seen;  causes  and  spirits  are  seen  through 
them.  The  best  moments  of  life  are  these  deli 
cious  awakenings  of  the  higher  powers,  and  the 
reverential  withdrawing  of  nature  before  its  God. 

Let  us  proceed  to  indicate  the  effects  of  cul 
ture.  1.  Our  first  institution  in  the  Ideal  phi 
losophy  is  a  hint  from  nature  herself. 

Nature  is  made  to  conspire  with  spirit  to 
emancipate  us.  Certain  mechanical  changes,  a 
small  alteration  in  our  local  position  apprizes  us 
of  a  dualism.  We  are  strangely  affected  by  see 
ing  the  shore  from  a  moving  ship,  from  a  balloon, 
or  through  the  tints  of  an  unusual  sky.  The 
last  change  in  our  point  of  view,  gives  the 
whole  world  a  pictorial  air.  A  man  who  seldom 
rides,  needs  only^o  get  into  a  coach  and  traverse 
his  own  town,  to  turn  the  street  into  a  puppet- 
show.  The  men,  the  women,  —  talking,  run 
ning,  bartering,  fighting,  —  the  earnest  mechanic, 
the  lounger,  the  beggar,  the  boys,  the  dogs,  are 
unrealized  at  once,  or,  at  least,  wholly  detached 
from  all  relation  to  the  observer,  and  seen  as 
apparent,  not  substantial  beings.  What  new 
thoughts  are  suggested  by  seeing  a  face  of 


IDEALISM.  49 

country  quite  familiar,  in  the  rapid  movement  of 
the  railroad  car !  Nay,  the  most  wonted  objects, 
(make  a  very  slight  change  in  the  point  of  vis 
ion,)  please  us  most.  In  a  camera  obscura,  the 
butcher's  cart,  and  the  figure  of  one  of  our  own 
family  amuse  us.  So  a  portrait  of  a  well-known 
face  gratifies  us.  Turn  the  eyes  upside  down, 
by  looking  at  •  the  landscape  through  your  legs, 
and  how  agreeable  is  the  picture,  though  you 
have  seen  it  any  time  these  twenty  years ! 

In  these  cases,  by  mechanical  means,  is  sug 
gested  the  difference  between  the  observer  and 
the  spectacle,  —  between  man  and  nature.  Hence 
arises  a  pleasure  mixed  with  awe  ;  I  may  say,  a 
low  degree  of  the  sublime  is  felt  from  the  fact, 
probably,  that  man  is  hereby  apprized,  that, 
whilst  the  world  is  a  spectacle,  something  in 
himself  is  stable. 

2.  In  a  higher  manner,  the  poet  communicates 
the  same  pleasure.  By  a  few  strokes  he  deline 
ates,  as  on  air,  the  sun,  the  mountain,  the  camp, 
the  city,  the  hero,  the  maiden,  not  different  from 
what  we  know  them,  but  only  lifted  from  the, 
ground  and  afloat  before  the  eye.  He  unfixes 
the  land  and  the  sea,  makes  them  revolve  around 
the  axis  of  his  primary  thought,  and  disposes 
them  anew.  Possessed  himself  by  a  heroic 
5 


60  IDEALISM. 

passion,  he  uses  matter  as  symbols  of  it.  The 
sensual  man  conforms  thoughts  to  things;  the 
poet  conforms  things  to  his  thoughts.  The  one 
esteems  nature  as  rooted  and  fast ;  the  other,  as 
fluid,  and  impresses  his  being  thereon.  To  him, 
the  refractory  world  is  ductile  and  flexible;  he 
invests  dust  and  stones  with  humanity,  and 
makes  them  the  words  of  the  Reason.  The 
Imagination  may  be  defined  to  be,  the  use 
which  the  Reason  makes  of  the  material  world. 
Shakspeare  possesses  the  power  of  subordinat 
ing  nature  for  the  purposes  of  expression,  beyond 
all  poets.  His  imperial  muse  tosses  the  creation 
like  a  bauble  from  hand  to  hand,  and  uses  it 
to  embody  any  caprice  of  thought  that  is  up 
permost  in  his  mind.  The  remotest  spaces  of 
nature  are  visited,  and  the  farthest  sundered 
things  are  brought  together,  by  a  subtile  spirit 
ual  connection.  We  are  made  aware  that  mag. 
nitude  of  material  things  is  relative,  and  all 
objects  shrink  and  expand  to  serve  the  passion  of 
the  poet.  Thus,~in  his  sonnets,  the  lays  of  birds, 
the  scents  and  dyes  of  flowers,  he  finds  to  be 
the  shadow  of  his  beloved;  time,  which  keeps 
her  from  him,  is  his  chest;  the  suspicion  she  has 
awakened, is  her  ornament; 

The  ornament  of  beauty  is  Suspect, 

A  crow  which  flies  in  heaven's  sweetest  air. 


IDEALISM. 


61 


His  passion  is  not  the  fruit  of  chance  ;  it  swells, 
as  he  speaks,  to  a  city,  or  a  state. 

No,  it  was  builded  far  from  accident ; 

It  suffers  not  in  smiling  pomp,  nor  falls 

Under  the  brow  of  thralling  discontent ; 

It  fears  not  policy,  that  heretic, 

That  works  on  leases  of  short  numbered  hours, 

But  all  alone  stands  hugely  politic. 
In  the  strength  of  his  constancy,  the  Pyramids 
seem  to  him  recent  and  transitory.     The  fresh 
ness  of  youth  and  love  dazzles  him  with  its  re 
semblance  to  morning. 

Take  those  lips  away 
Which  so  sweetly  were  forsworn ; 
And  those  eyes,  —  the  break  of  day, 
Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn. 

The  wild  beauty  of  this  hyperbole,  I  may  say, 
in  passing,  it  would  not  be  easy  to  match  in 
literature. 

This  transfiguration  which  all  material  objects 
undergo  through  the  passion  of  the  poet,  —  this 
power  which  he  exerts  to  dwarf  the  great,  to 
magnify  the  small,  —  might  be  illustrated  by  a 
thousand  examples  from  his  Plays.  I  have 
before  rne  the  Tempest,  and  will  cite  only  these 
few  lines. 

ARIEL.     The  strong  based  promontory 

Have  I  made  shake,  and  by  the  spurs  plucked  up 

The  pine  and  cedar. 


52  IDEALISM. 

Prospero  calls  for  music  to  soothe  the  frantic 
Alonzo,  and  his  companions  ; 

A  solemn  air,  and  the  best  comforter 
To  an  unsettled  fancy,  cure*thy  brains 
Now  useless,  boiled  within  thy  skull. 

Again ; 

The  charm  dissolves  apace, 
And,  as  the  morning  steals  upon  the  night, 
Melting  the  darkness,  so  their  rising  senses 
Begin  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 
Their  clearer  reason. 

Their  understanding 

Begins  to  swell:  and  the  approaching  tide 
Will  shortly  fill  the  reasonable  shores 
That  now  lie  foul  and  muddy. 

The  perception  of  real  affinities  between 
events,  (that  is  to  say,  of  ideal  affinities,  for 
those  only  are  real,)  enables  the  poet  thus  to 
make  free  with  the  most  imposing  forms  and 
phenomena  of  the  world,  and  to  assert  the  pre 
dominance  of  the  soul. 

3.  Whilst  thus  the  poet  animates  nature  with 
his  own  thoughts,  he  differs  from  the  philosopher 
only  herein,  that  the  one  proposes  Beauty  as  his 
main  end ;  the  other  Truth.  But  the  philos 
opher,  not  less  than  the  poet,  postpones  the 
apparent  order  and  relations  of  things  to  the 
empire  of  thought.  "  The  problem  of  philoso 
phy,"  according  to  Plato,  "  is,  for  all  that  exists 


IDEALISM.  53 

conditionally,  to  find  a  ground  unconditioned  and 
absolute."  It  proceeds  on  the  faith  that  a  law 
determines  all  phenomena,  which  being  known, 
the  phenomena  can*  be  predicted.  That  law, 
when  in  the  mind,  is  an  idea.  Its  beauty  is 
infinite.  The  true  philosopher  and  the  true  poet 
are  one,  and  a  beauty,  which  is  truth,  and  a  truth, 
which  is  beauty,  is  the  aim  of  both.  Is  not  the 
charm  of  one  of  Plato's  or  Aristotle's  definitions, 
strictly  like  that  of  the  Antigone  of  Sophocles  ? 
It  is,  in  both  cases,  that  a  spiritual  life  has  been 
imparted  to  nature  ;  that  the  solid  seeming  block 
of  matter  has  been  pervaded  and  dissolved  by  a 
thought ;  that  this  feeble  human  being  has 
penetrated  the  vast  masses  of  nature  with  an 
informing  soul,  and  recognised  itself  in  their 
harmony,  that  is,  seized  their  law.  In  physics, 
when  this  is  attained,  the  memory  disburthens 
itself  of  its  cumbrous  catalogues  of  particulars, 
and  carries  centuries  of  observation  in  a  single 
formula. 

Thus  even  in  physics,  the  material  is  degraded 
before  the  spiritual.  The  astronomer,  the  geom 
eter,  rely  on  their  irrefragable  analysis,  and  dis 
dain  the  results  of  observation.  The  sublime 
remark  of  Euler  on  his  law  of  arches,  "  This 
will  be  found  contrary  to  all  experience,  yet  is 
5* 


54  IDEALISM. 

true  ; "  had  already  transferred  nature  into  the 
mind,  and  left  matter  like  an  outcast  corpse. 

4.  Intellectual  science  has  been  observed  to 
beget  invariably  a  doubt  df  the  existence  of 
matter.  Turgot  said,  "  He  that  has  never 
doubted  the  existence  of  matter,  may  be  assured 
he  has  no  aptitude  for  metaphysical  inquiries." 
It  fastens  the  attention  upon  immortal  necessary 
uncreated  natures,  that  is,  upon  Ideas  ;  and  in 
their  presence,  we  feel  that  the  outward  cir 
cumstance  is  a  dream  and  a  shade.  Whilst 
we  wait  in  this  Olympus  of  gods,  we  think 
of  nature  as  an  appendix  to  the  soul.  We  as 
cend  into  their  region,  and  know  that  these  are 
the  thoughts  of  the  Supreme  Being.  "  These 
are  they  who  were  set  up  from  everlasting,  from 
the  beginning,  or  ever  the  earth  was.  When  he 
prepared  the  heavens,  they  were  there ;  when  he 
established  the  clouds  above,  when  he  strength 
ened  the  fountains  of  the  deep.  Then  they 
were  by  him,  as  one  brought  up  with  him.  Of 
them  took  he  counsel." 

Their  influence  is  proportionate.  As  objects 
of  science,  they  are  accessible  to  few  men.  Yet 
ah1  men  are  capable  of  being  raised  by  piety  or 
by  passion,  into  their  region.  And  no  man 
touches  these  divine  natures,  without  becoming, 
in  some  degree,  himself  divine.  Like  a  new 


IDEALISM.  55 

soul,  they  renew  the  body.  "We  become  physi 
cally  nimble  and  lightsome  ;  we  tread  on  air ; 
life  is  no  longer  irksome,  and  we  think  it  will 
never  be  so.  No  man  fears  age  or  misfortune 
or  death,  in  their  serene  company,  for  he  is 
transported  out  of  the  district  of  change. 
Whilst  we  beholden  veiled  the  nature  of  Justice 
and  Truth,  we  learn  the  difference  between  the 
absolute  and  the  conditional  or  relative.  We 
apprehend  the  absolute.  As  it  were,  for  the 
first  time,  we  exist.  We  become  immortal,  for 
we  learn  that  time  and  space  are  relations  of 
matter;  that,  with  a  perception  of  truth,  or  a 
virtuous  will,  they  have  no  affinity. 

5.  Finally,  religion  and  ethics,  which  may  be 
fitly  called, — the  practice  of  ideas,  or  the  intro 
duction  of  ideas-  into  life,  —  have  an  analogous 
effect  with  all  lower  culture,  in  degrading  nature 
and  suggesting  its  dependence  on  spirit.  Ethics 
and  religion  differ  herein;  that  the  one  is  the 
system  of  human  duties  commencing  from  man ; 
the  other,  from  God.  Religion  includes  the  per 
sonality  of  God;  Ethics  does  not.  They  are 
one  to  our  present  design.  They  both  put  na 
ture  under  foot.  The  first  and  last  lesson  of 
religion  is,  "  The  things  that  are  seen,  are  tem 
poral;  the  things  that  are  unseen,  are  eternal." 
It  puts  an  affront  upon  nature.  It  does  that  for 


56  IDEALISM. 

the  unschooled,  which  philosophy  does  for  Berke 
ley  and  Viasa.  The  uniform  language  that  may 
be  heard  in  the  churches  of  the  most  ignorant 
sects,  is,  —  "  Contemn  the  unsubstantial  shows  of 
the  world ;  they  are  vanities,  dreams,  shadows, 
unrealities  ;  seek  the  realities  of  religion."  The 
devotee  flouts  nature.  Some  theosophists  have 
arrived  at  a  certain  hostility  and  indignation 
towards  matter,  as  the  Manichean  and  Plotinus. 
They  distrusted  in  themselves  any  looking  back 
to  these  flesh-pots  of  Egypt.  Plotinus  was 
ashamed  of  his  body.  In  short,  they  might  all 
say  of  matter,  what  Michael  Angelo  said  of  ex 
ternal  beauty,  "  it  is  the  frail  •  and  weary  weed, 
in  which  God  dresses  the  soul,  which  he  has 
called  into  time." 

It  appears  that  motion,  poetry,  physical  and 
intellectual  science,  and  religion,  all  tend  to 
affect  our  convictions  of  the  reality  of  the  ex 
ternal  world.  But  I 'own  there  is  something 
ungrateful  in  expanding  too  curiously  the  par 
ticulars  of  the  general  proposition,  that  all  culture 
tends  to  imbue  us  with  idealism.  I  have  no 
hostility  to  nature,  but  a  child's  love  to  it.  I 
expand  and  live  in  the  warm  day  like  corn  and 
melons.  Let  us  speak  her  fair.  I  do  not  wish 
to  fling  stones  at  my  beautiful  mother,  nor  soil 
my  gentle  nest.  I  only  wish  to  indicate  the 


IDEALISM.  57 

true  position  of  nature  in  regard  to  man,  wherein 
to  establish  man,  all  right  education  tends ;  as 
the  ground  which  to  attain  is  the  object  of  hu 
man  life,  that  is,  of  man's  connection  with  nature. 
Culture  inverts  the  vulgar  views  of  nature,  and 
brings  the  mind  to  call  that  apparent,  which  it 
uses  to  call  real,  and  that  real,  which  it  uses  to 
call  visionary.  Children,  it  is  true,  believe  in 
the  external  world.  The  belief  that  it  appears 
only,  is  an  afterthought,  but  with  culture,  this 
faith  will  as  surely  arise  on  the  mind  as  did  the 
first. 

The  advantage  of  the  ideal  theory  over  the 
popular  faith,  is  this,  that  it  presents  the  world 
in  precisely  that  view  which  is  most  desirable  to 
the  mind.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  view  which  Reason, 
both  speculative  and  practical,  that  is,  philosophy 
and  virtue,  take.  For,  seen  in  the  light  of 
thought,  the  world  always  is  phenomenal ;  and 
virtue  subordinates  it  to  the  mind.  Idealism 
sees  the  world  in  God.  It  beholds  the  whole 
circle  of  persons  and  things,  of  actions  and 
events,  of  country  and  religion,  not  as  painfully 
accumulated,  atom  after  atom,  act  after  act,  in 
an  aged  creeping  Past,  but  as  one  vast  picture, 
which  God  paints  on  the  instant  eternity,  for  the 
contemplation  of  the  soul.  Therefore  the  soul 
holds  itself  off  from  a  too  trivial  and  microscopic 


58  IDEALISM. 

study  of  the  universal  tablet.  It  respects  the 
end  too  much,  to  immerse  itself  in  the  means. 
It  sees  something  more  important  in  Christianity, 
than  the  scandals  of  ecclesiastical  history,  or  the 
niceties  of  criticism ;  and,  very  incurious  con 
cerning  persons  or  miracles,  and  not  at  all  dis 
turbed  by  chasms  of  historical  evidence,  it 
accepts  from  God  the  phenomenon,  as  it  finds  it, 
as  the  pure  and  awful  form  of  religion  in  the 
world.  It  is  not  hot  and  passionate  at  the  ap 
pearance  of  what  it  calls  its  own  good  or  bad 
fortune,  at  the  union  or  opposition  of  other  per 
sons.  No  man  is  its  enemy.  It  accepts  what 
soever  befalls,  as  part  of  its  lesson.  It  is  a 
watcher  more  than  a  doer,  and  it  is  a  doer,  only 
that  it  may  the  better  watch 


CHAPTER  VII. 

SPIRIT. 

IT  is  essential  to  a  true  theory  of  nature  and 
of  man,  that  it  should  contain  somewhat  pro 
gressive.  Uses  that  are  exhausted  or  that  may 
be,  and  facts  that  end  in  the  statement,  cannot 
be  all  that  is  true  of  this  brave  lodging  wherein 
man  is  harbored,  and  wherein  all  his  faculties 
find  appropriate  and  endless  exercise.  And  all 
the  uses  of  nature  admit  of  being  summed  in 
x  one,  which  yields  the  activity  of  man  an  infinite 
scope.  Through  all  its  kingdoms,  to  the  suburbs 
and  outskirts  of  things,  it  is  faithful  to  the  cause 
whence  it  had  its  origin.  It  always  speaks  of 
Spirit.  It  suggests  the  absolute.  It  is  a  perpet 
ual  effect.  It  is  a  great  shadow  pointing  always 
to  the  sun  behind  us. 

The  aspect  of  nature  is  devout.  Like  the 
figure  of  Jesus,  she  stands  with  bended  head, 
and  hands  folded  upon  the  breast.  The  happiest 
man  is  he  who  learns  from  nature  the  lesson  of 
worship. 

Of  that  ineffable  essence  which  we  call  Spirit, 


60  SPIRIT. 

he  that  thinks  most,  will  say  least.  We  can 
foresee  God  in  the  coarse,  and,  as  it  were,  distant 
phenomena  of  matter ;  but  when  we  try  to  de 
fine  and  describe  himself,  both  language  and 
thought  desert  us,  and  we  are  as  helpless  as  fools 
and  savages.  That  essence  refuses  to  be  re 
corded  in  propositions,  but  when  man  has  wor 
shipped  him  intellectually,  the  noblest  ministry 
of  nature  is  to  stand  as  the  apparition  of  God. 
It  is  the  organ  through  which  the  universal  spirit 
speaks  to  the  individual,  and  strives  to  lead  back 
the  individual  to  it. 

When  we  consider  Spirit,  we  see  that  the 
views  already  presented  do  not  include  the  whole 
circumference  of  man.  We  must  add  some  re 
lated  thoughts. 

Three  problems  are  put  by  nature  to  the 
mind ;  What  is  matter  ?  Whence  is  it  ?  and 
Whereto  ?  The  first  of  these  questions  only,  the 
ideal  theory  answers.  Idealism  saith  :  matter 
is  a  phenomenon,  not  a  substance.  Idealism 
acquaints  us  with  the  total  disparity  between 
the  evidence  of  our  own  being,  and  the  evidence 
of  the  world's  being.  The  one  is  perfect ;  the 
other,  incapable  of  any  assurance  ;  the  mind  is 
a  part  of  the  nature  of  things ;  the  world  is  a 
divine  dream,  from  which  we  may  presently 
awake- to  the  glories  and  certainties  of  day. 


SPIRIT.  61 

Idealism  is  a  hypothesis  to  account  for  nature 
by  other  principles  than  those  of  carpentry  and 
chemistry.  Yet,  if  it  only  deny  the  existence 
of  matter,  it  does  not  satisfy  the  demands  of 
the  spirit.  It  leaves  God  out  of  me.  It  leaves 
me  in  the  splendid  labyrinth  of  my  perceptions, 
to  wander  without  end.  Then  the  heart  resists 
it,  because  it  balks  the  affections  in  denying 
substantive  being  to  men  and  women.  Nature 
is  so  pervaded  with  human  life,  that  there  is 
something  of  humanity  in  all,  and  in  every  par 
ticular.  But  this  theory  makes  nature  foreign  to 
me,  and  does  not  account  for  that  consanguinity 
which  we  acknowledge  to  it. 

Let  it  stand,  then,  in  the  present  state  of  our 
knowledge,  merely  as  a  useful  introductory  hy 
pothesis,  serving  to  apprize  us  of  the  eternal  dis 
tinction  between  the  soul  and  the  world. 

But  when,  following  the  invisible  steps  of 
thought,  we  come  to  inquire,  Whence  is  matter? 
and  Whereto  ?  many  truths  arise  to  us  out  of  the 
recesses  of  consciousness.  We  learn  that  the 
highest  is  present  to  the  soul  of  man,  that  the 
dread  universal  essence,  which  is  not  wisdom,  or 
love,  or  beauty,  or  power,  but  all  in  one,  and 
each  entirely,  is  that  for  which  all  things  exist, 
and  that  by  which  they  are  ;  that  spirit  creates  ; 
that  behind  nature,  throughout  nature,  spirit  is 
6 


62  SPIRIT. 

present ;  one  and  not  compound,  it  does  not  act 
upon  us  from  without,  that  is,  in  space  and 
time,  but  spiritually,  or  through  ourselves : 
therefore,  that  spirit,  that  is,  the  Supreme 
Being,  does  not  build  up  nature  around  us,  but 
puts  it  forth  through  us,  as  the  life  of  the  tree 
puts  forth  new  branches  and  leaves  through 
the  pores  of  the  old.  As  a  plant  upon  the  earth, 
so  a  man  rests  upon  the  bosom  of  God ;  he  is 
nourished  by  unfailing  fountains,  and  draws, 
at  his  need,  inexhaustible  power.  Who  can 
set  bounds  to  the  possibilities  of  man  ?  Once 
inhale  the  upper  air,  being  admitted  to  behold 
the  absolute  natures  of  justice  and  truth,  and 
we  learn  that  man  has  access  to  the  entire 
mind  of  the  Creator,  is  himself  the  creator  in  the 
finite.  This  view,  which  admonishes  me  where 
the  sources  of  wisdom  and  power  lie,  and  points 
to  virtue  as  to 

"  The  golden  key 
Which  opes  the  palace  of  eternity," 

carries  upon  its  face  the  highest  certificate  of 
truth,  because  it  animates  me  to  create  my  own 
world  through  the  purification  of  my  soul. 

The  world  proceeds  from  the  same  spirit  as 
the  body  of  man.  It  is  a  remoter  and  inferior 
incarnation  of  God,  a  projection  of  God  in  the 


SPIRIT.  63 

unconscious.  But  it  differs  from  the  body  in  one 
important  respect.  It  is  not,  like  that,  now  sub 
jected  to  the  human  will.  Its  serene  order  is 
inviolable  by  us.  It  is,  therefore,  to  us,  the  pres 
ent  expositor  of  the  divine  mind.  It  is  a  fixed 
point  whereby  we  may  measure  our  departure. 
As  we  degenerate,  the  contrast  between  us  and 
our  house  is  more  evident.  We  are  as  much 
strangers  in  nature,  as  we  are  aliens  from  God. 
We  do  not  understand  the  notes  of  birds.  The 
fox  and  the  deer  run  away  from  us;  the  bear 
and  tiger  rend  us.  We  do  not  know  the  uses  of 
more  than  a  few  plants,  as  corn  and  the  apple, 
the  potato  and  the  vine.  Is  not  the  landscape, 
every  glimpse  of  which  hath  a  grandeur,  a  face 
of  him  ?  Yet  this  may  show  us  what  discord 
is  between  man  and  nature,  for  you  cannot 
freely  admire  a  noble  landscape,  if  laborers  are 
digging  in  the  field  hard  by.  The  poet  finds 
something  ridiculous  in  his  delight,  until  he  is 
out  of  the  sight  of  men. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

PROSPECTS. 

IN  inquiries  respecting  the  laws  of  the  world 
and  the  frame  of  things,  the  highest  reason  is 
always  the  truest.  That  which  seems  faintly 
possible  —  it  is  so  refined,  is  often  faint  and  dim 
because  it  is  deepest  seated  in  the  mind  among 
the  eternal  verities.  Empirical^  science  is  apt  to 
cloud  the  sight,  and,  by  the  very  knowledge  of 
functions  and  processes,  to  bereave  the  student 
of  the  manly  contemplation  of  the  whole.  The 
savant  becomes  unpoetic..  But  the  best  read 
naturalist  who  lends  an  entire  and  devout  atten 
tion  to  truth,  will  see  that  there  remains  much  to 
learn  of  his  relation  to  the  world,  and  that  it  is 
not  to  be  learned  by  any  addition  or  subtraction 
or  other  comparison  of  known  quantities,  but  is 
arrived  at  by  untaught  sallies  of  the  spirit,  by  a 
continual  self-recovery,  and  by  entire  humility. 
He  will  perceive  that  there  are  far  more  excellent 
qualities  in  the  student  than  preciseness  and  in 
fallibility;  that  a  guess  is  often  more  fruitful 
than  an  indisputable  affirmation,  and  that  a 


PROSPECTS.  65 

dream  may  let  us  deeper  into  the  secret  of  na 
ture  than  a  hundred  concerted  experiments. 

For,  the  problems  to  be  solved  are  precisely 
those  which  the  physiologist  and  the  naturalist 
omit  to  state.  It  is  not  so  pertinent  to  man  to 
know  all  the  individuals  of  the  animal  kingdom, 
as  it  is  to  know  whence  and  whereto  is  this 
tyrannizing  unity  in  his  constitution,  which 
evermore  separates  and  classifies  things,  endeav 
oring  to  reduce  the  most  diverse  to  one  form. 
When  I  behold  a  rich  landscape,  it  is  less  to  my 
purpose  to  recite  correctly  the  order  and  super 
position  of  the  strata,  than  to  know  why  all 
thought  of  multitude  is  lost  in  a  tranquil  sense 
of  unity.  I  cannot  greatly  honor  minuteness  in 
details^  so  long  as  there  is  no  hint  to  explain  the 
relation  between  things  and  thoughts ;  no  ray 
upon  the  metaphysics  of  conchology,  of  botany, 
of  the  arts,  to  show  the  relation  of  the  forms  of 
flowers,  shells',  animals,  architecture,  to  the  mind, 
and  build  science  upon  ideas.  In  a  cabinet  of 
natural  history,  we  become  sensible  of  a  certain 
occult  recognition  and  sympathy  in  regard  to 
the  most  unwieldly  and  eccentric  forms  of  beast, 
fish,  and  insect.  The  American  who  has  been 
confined,  in  his  own  country,  to  the  sight  of 
buildings  designed  after  foreign  models,  is  sur 
prised  on  entering  York  Minster  or  St.  Peter's  at 
6* 


66  PROSPECTS. 

Rome,  by  the  feeling  that  these  structures  are 
imitations  also,  —  faint  copies  of  an  invisible 
archetype.  Nor  has  science  sufficient  humanity^ 
so  long  as  the  naturalist  overlooks  that  wonder 
ful  congruity  which  subsists  between  man  and 
the  world ;  of  which  he  is  lord,  not  because  he 
is  the  most  subtile  inhabitant,  but  because  he  is 
its  head  and  heart,  and  finds  something  of  him 
self  in  every  great  and  small  thing,  in  every 
mountain  stratum,  in  every  new  law  of  color, 
fact  of  astronomy,  or  "atmospheric  influence 
which  observation  or  analysis  lay  open.  A  per 
ception  of  this  mystery  inspires  the  muse  of 
George  Herbert,  the  beautiful  psalmist  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  following  lines  are 
part  of  his  little  poem  on  Man. 

"  Man  is  all  symmetry, 
Full  of  proportions,  one  limb  to  another, 

And  to  all  the  world  besides. 

Each  part  may  call  the  farthest,  brother ; 
For  head  with  foot  hath  private  amity, 

And  both  with  moons  arid  tides. 

"  Nothing  hath  got  so  far 
But  man  hath  caught  and  kept  it  as  his  prey ; 

His  eyes  dismount  the  highest  star  • 

He  is  in  little  all  the  sphere. 
Herbs  gladly  cure  our  flesh,  because  that  they 

Find  their  acquaintance  there. 


PBOSPECTS.  67 

"  For  us,  the  winds  do  blow, 
The  earth  doth  rest,  heaven  move,  and  fountains  flow ; 

Nothing  we  see,  but  means  our  good, 

As  our  delight,  or  as  ourxtreasure ; 
The  whole  is  either  our  cupboard  of  food, 

Or  cabinet  of  pleasure. 

"  The  stars  have  us  to  bed : 
Night  draws  the  curtain ;  which  the  sun  withdraws. 

Music  and  light  attend  our  head. 

All  things  unto  our  flesh  are  kind, 
In  their  descent  and  being ;  to  our  mind, 

In  their  ascent  and  cause. 

"  More  servants  wait  on  man 
Than  he'll  take  notice  of.     In  every  path, 

He  treads  down  that  which  doth  befriend  him 

When  sickness  makes  him  pale  and  wan. 
Oh  mighty  love  !     Man  is  one  world,  and  hath 

Another  to  attend  him." 

The  perception  of  this  class  of  truths  makes 
the  attraction  which  draws  men  to  science,  but 
the  end  is  lost  sight  of  in  attention  to  the  means. 
In  view  of  this  half-sight  of  science,  we  accept 
the  sentence  of  Plato,  that  "  poetry  comes 
nearer  to  vital  truth  than  history."  Every  sur 
mise  and  vaticination  of  the  mind  is  entitled  to 
a  certain  respect,  and  we  learn  to  prefer  imper 
fect  theories,  and  sentences,  which  contain 
glimpses  of  truth,  to  digested  systems  which 
have  no  one  valuable  suggestion.  A  wise  writer 


PB08PBCTS, 

will  fool  that  the  ends  of  stud\   and  composition 
•are  best  answered  by  announcing  undiscovered 

regions     of    thought,    and     so     communicating, 
through  hope,  new  activity  10  the  torpid  spirit. 

I  shall  therefore  conclude  this  essay  with  some 
traditions  of  man  and  nature,  which  a  certain 
poet  sang  to  me:  and  which,  as  they  have 
always  been  in  the  world,  and  perhaps  reappear 
to  every  bard,  may  be  both  history  and  pro 
phecy. 

•  Tho  foundations   of  man  are   not   in  matter, 
but  in  spirit.     But   the  element  of  spirit  is  eter 
nity.      To    it,  therefore,    the     longest     series    of 
events,  the  oldest   chronologies  are    young    and 
recent.     In  the  cycle  of  the  universal  man,  from 
whom  the  known  individuals  proceed,  centuries 
are  points,  and  all  history  is  but  the  epoch  of 
one  degradation. 

•  We  distrust  and  deny  inwardly  our  sympa 
thy  with    nature.       We    own   and    disown    our 
relation  to  it,  by  turns.     We  are,  like  Xebuehad- 
noz/.ar,  dethroned,  bereft  of  reason,  and  eating 

-s  like  an  ox.     But  who  can  set  limits  to  the 
remedial  force  of  spirit  ? 

•  A  man  is  a  god  in  ruins.      When  men  are 
innocent,  life  shall  bo  longer,  and  shall  pass  into 
the  immortal,  as  gently  as  we  awake  from  dreams. 
Xow,  the  world  would  be  insane  and  rabid,  if 


PROSPECTS.  69 

these  disorganizations  should  last  for  hundreds 
of  years.  It  is  kept  in  check  by  death  and  in 
fancy.  Infancy  is  the  perpetual  Messiah,  which 
comes  into  the  arms  of  fallen  men,  and  pleads 
with  them  to  return  to  paradise. 

1  Man  is  the  dwarf  of  himself.  Once  he  was 
permeated  and  dissolved  by  spirit.  He  filled 
nature  with  his  overflowing  currents.  Out  from 
him  sprang  the  sun  and  moon ;  from  man,  the 
sun ;  from  woman,  the  moon.  The  laws  of  his 
mind,  the  periods  of  his  actions  externized  them 
selves  into  day  and  night,  into  the  year  and  the 
seasons.  But,  having  made  for  himself  this 
huge  shell,  his  waters  retired ;  he  no  longer  fills 
the  veins  and  veinlets ;  he  is  shrunk  to  a  drop. 
He  sees,  that  the  structure  still  fits  him,  but  fits 
him  colossally.  Say,  rather,  once  it  fitted  him, 
now  it  corresponds  to  him  from  far  and  on  high. 
He  adores  timidly  his  own  work.  Now  is  man 
the  follower  of  the  sun,  and  woman  the  follower 
of  the  moon.  Yet  sometimes  he  starts  in  his 
slumber,  and  wonders  at  himself  and  his  house, 
and  muses  strangely  at  the  resemblance  betwixt 
him  and  it.  He  perceives  that  if  his  law  is  still 
paramount,  if  still  he  have  elemental  power,  if 
his  word  is  sterling  yet  in  nature,  it  is  not  con 
scious  power,  it  is  not  inferior  but  superior  to  his 
will.  It  is  Instinct.'  Thus  my  Orphic  poet  sang. 


70  PROSPECTS. 

At  present,  man  applies  to  nature  but  half  his 
force.  He  works  on  the  world  with  his  under 
standing  alone.  He  lives  in  it,  and  masters  it 
by  a  penny-wisdom  ;  and  he  that  works  most  in 
it,  is  but  a  half-man,  and  whilst  his  arms  are 
strong  and  his  digestion  good,  his  mind  is  im- 
bruted,  and  he  is  a  selfish  savage.  His  relation 
to  nature,  his  power  over  it,  is  through  the  un 
derstanding;  as  by  manure;  the  economic  use 
of  fire,  wind,  water,  and  the  mariner's  needle ; 
steam,  coal,  chemical  agriculture  ;  the  repairs  of 
the  human  body  by  the  dentist  and  the  surgeon. 
This  is  such  a  resumption  of  power,  as  if  a  ban 
ished  king  should  buy  his  territories  inch  by 
inch,  instead  of  vaulting  at  once  into  his  throne. 
Meantime,  in  the  thick  darkness,  there  are  not 
wanting  gleams  of  a  better  light,  —  occasional 
examples  of  the  action  of  man  upon  nature  with 
his  entire  force,  —  with  reason  as  well  as  under 
standing.  Such  examples  are ;  the  traditions  of 
miracles  in  the  earliest  antiquity  of  all  nations  ; 
the  history  of  Jesus  Christ ;  the  achievements  of 
a  principle,  as  in  religious  and  political  revolu 
tions,  and  in  the  abolition  of  the  Slave-trade ; 
the  miracles  of  enthusiasm,  as  those  reported  of 
Swedenborg,  Hohenlohe,  and  the  Shakers; 
many  obscure  and  yet  contested  facts,  now 
arranged  under  the  name  of  Animal  Magnetism ; 


PROSPECTS.  71 

prayer ;  eloquence ;  self-healing ;  and  the  wis 
dom  of  children.  These  are  examples  of  Rea 
son's  momentary  grasp  of  the  sceptre ;  the 
exertions  of  a  power  which  exists  not  in  time 
or  space,  but  an  instantaneous  in-streaming  caus 
ing  power.  The  difference  between  the  actual 
and  the  ideal  force  of  man  is  happily  figured  by 
the  schoolmen,  in  saying,  that  the  knowledge  of 
man  is  an  evening  knowledge,  vespertina  cog1- 
nitiO)  but  that  of  God  is  a  morning  knowledge, 
matutina  cognitio. 

The  problem  of  restoring  to  the  world  origi 
nal  and  eternal  beauty,  is  solved  by  the  redemp 
tion  of  the  soul.  The  ruin  or  the  blank,  that 
we  see  when  we  look  at  nature,  is  in  our  own 
eye.  The  axis  of  vision  is  not  coincident  with 
the  axis  of  things,  and  so  they  appear  not  trans 
parent  but  opake.  The  reason  why  the  world 
lacks  unity,  and  lies  broken  and  in  heaps,  is,  be 
cause  man  is  disunited  with  himself.  He  cannot 
be  a  naturalist,  until  he  satisfies  all  the  demands 
of  the  spirit.  Love  is  as  much  its  demand,  as 
perception.  Indeed,  neither  can  be  perfect  with 
out  the  other.  In  the  uttermost  meaning  of 
the  words,  thought  is  devout,  and  devotion  is 
thought.  Deep  calls  unto  deep.  But  in  actual 
life,  the  marriage  is  not  celebrated.  There  are 
innocent  men  who  worship  God  after  the  tra- 


72  PROSPECTS. 

dition  of  their  fathers,  but  their  sense  of  duty 
has  not  yet  extended  to  the  use  of  all  their  fac 
ulties.  And  there  are  patient  naturalists,  but 
they  freeze  their  subject  under  the  wintry  light 
of  the  understanding.  Is  not  prayer  also  a  study 
of  truth,  —  a  sally  of  the  soul  into  the  unfound 
infinite  ?  No  man  ever  prayed  heartily,  without 
learning  something.  But  when  a  faithful  thinker, 
resolute  to  detach  every  object  from  personal  re 
lations,  and  see  it  in  the  light  of  thought,  shall, 
at  the  same  time,  kindle  science  with  the  fire  of 
the  holiest  affections,  then  will  God  go  forth 
anew  into  the  creation. 

It  will  not  need,  when  the  mind .  is  prepared 
for  study,  to  search  for  objects.  The  invariable 
mark  of  wisdom  is  to  see  the  miraculous  in  the 
common.  What  is  a  day  ?  What  is  a  year  ? 
What  is  summer  ?  What  is  woman  ?  What  is 
a  child  ?  What  is  sleep  ?  To  our  blindness, 
these  things  seem  unaffecting.  We  make  fables 
to  hide  the  baldness  of  the  fact  and  conform  it, 
as  we. say,  to  the  higher  law  of  the  mind.  But 
when  the  fact  is  seen  under  the  light  of  an  idea, 
the  gaudy  fable  fades  and  shrivels.  We  behold 
the  real  higher  law.  To  the  wise,  therefore,  a 
fact  is  true  poetry,  and  the  most  beautiful  of 
fables.  These  wonders  are  brought  to  our  own 
door.  You  also  are  a  man.  Man  and  woman, 


PROSPECTS.  73 

and  their  social  life,  poverty,  labor,  sleep,  fear, 
fortune,  are  known  to  you.  Learn  that  none  of 
these  things  is  superficial,  but  that  each  phenom 
enon  has  its  roots  in  the  faculties  and  affections 
of  the  mind.  Whilst  the  abstract  question  occu 
pies  your  intellect,  nature  brings  it  in  the  con 
crete  to  be  solved  by  your  hands.  It  were  a 
wise  inquiry  for  the  closet,  to  compare,  point  by 
point,  especially  at  remarkable  crises  in  life,  our 
daily  history,  with  the  rise  and  progress  of  ideas 
in  the  mind. 

So  shall  we  come  to  look  at  the  world  with 
new  eyes.  It  shall  answer  the  endless  inquiry 
of  the  intellect,  —  What  is  truth  ?  and  of  the 
affections,  —  What  is  good  ?  by  yielding  itself 
passive  to  the  educated  Will.  Then  shall  come 
to  pass  what  my  poet  said ;  4  Nature  is  not  fixed 
but  fluid.  Spirit  alters,  moulds,  makes  it.  The 
immobility  or  bruteness  of  nature,  is  the  absence 
of  spirit ;  to  pure  spirit,  it  is  fluid,  it  is  volatile, 
it  is  obedient.  Every  spirit  builds  itself  a  house  ; 
and  beyond  its  house  a  world;  and  beyond  its 
world,  a  heaven.  Know  then,  that  the  world 
exists  for  you.  For  you  is  the  phenomenon  per 
fect.  What  we  are,  that  only  can  we  see.  All 
that  Adam  had,  all  that  Caesar  could,  you  have 
and  can  do.  Adam  called  his  house,  heaven  and 
earth ;  Caesar  called  his  house,  Rome ;  you  perhaps 
7 


74  PROSPECTS. 

call  yours,  a  cobbler's  trade  ;  a  hundred  acres 
of  ploughed  land ;  or  a  scholar's  garret.  Yet 
line  for  line  and  point  for  point,  yotir  dominion 
is  as  great  as  theirs,  though  without  fine  names. 
Build,  therefore,  your  own  world.  As  fast  as 
"you  conform  your  life  to  the  pure  idea  in  your 
mind,  that  will  unfold  its  great  proportions.  A 
correspondent  revolution  in  things  will  attend 
the  influx  of  the  spirit.  So  fast  will  disagreeable 
appearances,  swine,  spiders,  snakes,  pests,  mad 
houses,  prisons,  enemies,  vanish ;  they  are  tem 
porary  and  shall  be  no  more  seen.  The  sordor 
and  filths  of  nature,  the  sun  shall  dry  up,  and 
the  wind  exhale.  As  when  the  summer  comes 
from  the  south;  the  snow-banks  melt,  and  the 
face  of  the  earth  becomes  green  before  it,  so 
shall  the  advancing  spirit  create  its  ornaments 
along  its  path,  and  carry  with  it  the  beauty  it 
visits,  and  the  song  which  enchants  it ;  it  shall 
draw  beautiful  faces,  warm  hearts,  wise  dis 
course,  and  heroic  acts,  around  its  way,  until 
evil  is  no  more  seen.  The  kingdom  of  man 
over  nature,  which  cometh  not  with  observa 
tion,  —  a  dominion  such  as  now  is  beyond  his 
dream  of  God,  —  he  shall  enter  without  more 
wonder  than  the  blind  man  feels  who  is  gradu 
ally  restored  to  perfect  sight.' 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR. 

AN  ORA1ION  DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  PHI  BETA  KAPPA  SOCIETY, 
AT  CAMBRIDGE,  AUGUST  31,  1837. 


THE    AMERICAN    SCHOLAR. 


MR.  PRESIDENT  AND  GENTLEMEN, 

I  GREET  you  on  the  recommencement  of  our 
literary  year.  Our  anniversary  is  one  of  hope,  and, 
perhaps,  not  enough  of  labor.  We  do  not  meet 
for  games  of  strength  or  skill,  for  the  recitation 
of  histories,  tragedies,  and  odes,  like  the  ancient 
Greeks ;  for  parliaments  of  love  and  poesy,  like 
the  Troubadours  ;  nor  for  the  advancement  of 
science,  like  our  contemporaries  in  the  British  and 
European  capitals.  Thus  far,  our-  holiday  has 
been  simply  a  friendly  sign  of  the  survival  of  the 
love  of  letters  amongst  a  people  too  busy  to  give 
to  letters  any  more.  As  such,  it  is  precious  as 
the  sign  of  an  indestructible  instinct.  Perhaps 
the  time  is  already  come,  when  it  ought  to  be, 
and  will  be,  something  else  ;  when  the  sluggard 
intellect  of  this  continent  will  look  from  under 


78  .         THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

its  iron  lids,  and  fill  the  postponed  expectation 
of  the  world  with  something  better  than  the 
exertions  of  mechanical  skill.  Our  day  of  de 
pendence,  our  long  apprenticeship  to  the  learning 
of  other  lands,  draws  to  a  close.  The  millions, 
that  around  us  are  rushing  into  life,  cannot  al 
ways  be  fed  on  the  sere  remains  of  foreign  har 
vests.  Events,  actions  arise,  that  must  be  sung, 
that  will  sing  themselves.  Who  can  doubt,  that 
poetry  will  revive  and  lead  in  a  new  age,  as  the 
star  in  the  constellation  Harp,  which  now  flames 
in  our  zenith,  astronomers  announce,  shall  one 
day  be  the  pole-star  for  a  thousand  years  ? 

In  this  hope,  I  accept  the  topic  which  not  only 
usage,  but  the  nature  of  our  association,  seem  to 
prescribe  to  this  day,  —  the  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR. 
Year  by  year,  we  come  up  hither  to  read  one 
more  chapter  of  his  biography.  Let  us  inquire 
what  light  new  days  and  events  have  thrown  on 
his  character,  and  his  hopes. 

It  is  one  of  those  fables,  which,  out  of  an  un- 
known  antiquity,  convey  an  unlooked-for  wis 
dom,  that  the  gods,  in  the  beginning,  divided 
Man  into  men,  that  he  might  be  more  helpful  to 
himself;  just  as  the  hand  was  divided  into  fin 
gers,  the  better  to  answer  its  end. 

The  old  fable  covers  a  doctrine  ever  new  and 
sublime ;  that  there  is  One  Man,  —  present  to 


THE   AMERICAN    SCHOLAR.  79 

all  particular  men  only  partially,  or  through  one 
faculty  ;  and  that  you  must  take  the  whole  so 
ciety  to  find  the  whole  man.  Man  is  not  a 
farmer,  or  a  professor,  or  an  engineer,  but  he  is 
all.  Man  is  priest,  and  scholar,  and  statesman, 
and  producer,  and  soldier.  In  the  divided  or 
social  state,  these  functions  are  parcelled  out  to 
individuals,  each  of  whom  aims  to  do  his  stint  of 
the  joint  work,  whilst  each  other  performs  his. 
The  fable  implies,  that  the  individual,  to  possess 
himself,  must  sometimes  return  from  his  own 
labor  to  embrace  all  the  other  laborers.  But, 
unfortunately,  this  original  unit,  this  fountain  of 
power,  has  been  so  distributed  to  multitudes,  has 
been  so  minutely  subdivided  and  peddled  out, 
that  it  is  spilled  into  drops,  and  cannot  be  gath 
ered.  The  state  of  society  is  one  in  which  the 
members  have  suffered  amputation  from  the 
trunk,  and  strut  about  so  many  walking  mon 
sters,  —  a  good  finger,  a  neck,  a  stomach,  an 
elbow,  but  never  a  man. 

Man  is  thus  metamorphosed  into  a  thing,  into 
many  things.  The  planter,  who  is  Man  sent 
out  into  the  field  to  gather  food,  is  seldom  cheered 
by  any  idea  of  the  true  dignity  of  his  ministry. 
He  sees  his  bushel  and  his  cart,  and  nothing 
beyond,  and  sinks  into  the  farmer,  instead  of 
Man  on  the  farm.  The  tradesman  scarcely  ever 


80  THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

gives  an  ideal  worth  to  his  work,  but  is  ridden 
by  the  routine  of  his  craft,  and  the  soul  is  subject 
to  dollars.  The  priest  becomes  a  form ;  the  at 
torney,  a  statute-book ;  the  mechanic,  a  machine  ; 
the  sailor,  a  rope  of  the  ship. 

In  this  distribution  of  functions,  the  scholar  is 
the  delegated  intellect.  In  the  right  state,  he 
is,  Man  Thinking.  In  the  degenerate  state, 
when  the  victim  of  society,  he  tends  to  become 
a  mere  thinker,  or,  still  worse,  the  parrot  of  other 
men's  thinking. 

In  this  view  of  him,  as  Man  Thinking,  the 
theory  of  his  office  is  contained.  Him  nature 
solicits  with  all  her  placid,  all  her  monitory 
pictures ;  him  the  past  instructs  ;  him  the  future 
invites.  Is  not,  indeed,  every  man  a  student, 
and  do  not  all  things  exist  for  the  student's 
behoof?  And,  finally,  is  not  the  true  scholar 
the  only  true  master  ?  But  the  old  oracle  said, 
'  All  things  have  two  handles  :  beware  of  the 
wrong  one.'  In  life,  too  often,  the  scholar 
errs  with  mankind  and  forfeits  his  privilege. 
Let  us  see  him  in  his  school,  and  consider 
him  in  reference  to  the  main  influences  he 
receives. 

I.  The  first  in  time  and  the  first  in  importance 
of  the  influences  upon  the  mind  is  that  of  nature. 


THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR.  81 

Every  day,  the  sun ;  and,  after  sunset,  night  and 
her  stars.  Ever  the  winds  blow ;  ever  the  grass 
grows.  Every  day,  men  and  women,  conversing, 
beholding  and  beholden.  The  scholar  is  he  of 
all  men  whom  this  spectacle  most  engages.  He 
must  settle  its  value  in  his  mind.  What  is 
nature  to  him?  There  is  never  a  beginning, 
.  there  is  never  an  end,  to  the  inexplicable  con 
tinuity  of  this  web  of  God,  but  always  circular 
power  returning  into  itself.  Therein  it  resem 
bles  his  own  spirit,  whose  beginning,  whose 
ending,  he  never  can  find, — so  entire,  so  bound 
less.  Far,  too,  as  her  splendors  shine,  system  on 
system  shooting  like  rays,  upward,  downward, 
without  centre,  without  circumference,  —  in  the 
mass  and  in  the  particle,  nature  hastens  to  render 
account  of  herself  to  the  mind.  Classification 
begins.  To  the  young  mind,  every  thing  is 
individual,  stands  by  itself.  By  and  by,  it  finds 
how  to  join  two  things,  and  see  in  them  one 
nature  ;  then  three,  then  three  thousand ;  and 
so,  tyrannized  over  by  its  own  unifying  instinct, 
it  goes  on  tying  things  together,  diminishing 
anomalies,  discovering  roots  running  under 
ground,  whereby  contrary  and  remote  things 
cohere,  and  flower  out  from  one  stem.  It  pre 
sently  learns,  that,  since  the  dawn  of  history, 
there  has  been  a  constant  accumulation  and  clas- 


82  THE  AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

sifying  of  facts.  But  what  is  classification  but 
the  perceiving  that  these  objects  are  not  chaotic, 
and  are  not  foreign,  but  have  a  law  which  is  also 
a  law  of  the  human  mind  ?  The  astronomer 
discovers  that  geometry,  a  pure  abstraction  of  • 
the  human  mind,  is  the  measure  of  planetary 
motion.  The  chemist  finds  proportions  and  in- 
telligible  method  throughout  matter  ;'and  science 
is  nothing  but  the  finding  of  analogy,  identity, 
in  the  most  remote  parts.  The  ambitious  soul 
sits  down  before  each  refractory  fact ;  one  after 
another,  reduces  all  strange  constitutions,  all  new 
powers,  to  their  class  and  their  law,  and  goes  on 
for  ever  to  animate  the  last  fibre  of  organization, 
the  outskirts  of  nature,  by  insight.  , 

Thus  to  him,  to  this  school-boy  under  the 
bending  dome  of  day,  is  suggested,  that  he  and 
it  proceed  from  one  root ;  one  is  leaf  and  one  is 
flower;  relation,  sympathy,  stiring  in  every 
vein.  And  what  is  that  root  ?  Is  not  that  the 
soul  of  his  soul  ?  —  A  thought  too  bold,  —  a 
dream  too  wild.  Yet  when  this  spiritual  light 
shall  have  revealed  the  law  of  more  earthly 
natures,  —  when  he  has  learned  to  worship  the 
soul,  and  to  see  that  the  natural  philosophy  that 
now  is,  is  only  the  first  gropings  of  its  gigantic 
hand,  he  shall  look  forward  to  an  ever  expanding 
knowledge  as  to  a  becoming  creator.  He  shall 


THE  AMERICAN    SCHOLAR.  83 

see,  that  nature  is  the  opposite  of  the  soul,  an 
swering  to  it  part  for  part.  One  is  seal,  and  one 
is  print.  Its  beauty  is  the  beauty  of  his  own 
mind.  Its  laws  are  the  laws  of  his  own  mind. 
"Nature  then  becomes  to  him  the  measure  of  his 
attainments.  So  much  of  nature  as  he  is  igno 
rant  of,  so  much  of  his  own  mind  does  he  not 
yet  possess."  And,  in  fine,  the  ancient  precept, 
"  Know  thyself,"  and  the  modern  precept, 
"  Study  nature,"  become  at  last  one  maxim. 

II.  The  next  great  influence  into  the  spirit  of 
the  scholar,  is,  the  mind  of  the  Past,  —  in  what 
ever  form,  whether  of  literature,  of  art,  of  insti 
tutions,  that  mind  is  inscribed.  Books  are  the 
best  type  of  the  influence  of  the  past,  and  per 
haps  we  shall  get  at  the  truth,  —  learn  the 
amount  of  this  influence  more  conveniently,  — 
by  considering  their  value  alone. 

The  theory  of  books  is  noble.  The  scholar 
of  the  first  age  received  into  him  the  world 
around ;  brooded  thereon ;  gave  it  the  new  ar 
rangement  of  his  own  mind,  and  uttered  it  again. 
It  came  into  him,  life ;  it  went  out  from  him, 
truth.  It  came  to  him,  short-lived  actions ;  it 
went  out  from  him,  immortal  thoughts.  It  came 
to  him,  business ;  it  went  from  him,  poetry.  It 
was  dead  fact;  now,  it  is  quick  thought.  It 


84  THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

can  stand,  and  it  can  go.  It  now  endures,  it 
now  flies,  it  now  inspires.  Precisely  in  propor 
tion  to  the  depth  of  mind  from  which  it  issued, 
so  high  does  it  soar,  so  long  does  it  sing. 

Or,  I  might  say,  it  depends  on  how  far  the 
process  had  gone,  of  transmuting  life  into  truth. 
In  proportion  to  the  completeness  of  the  distil 
lation,  so  will  the  purity  and  imperishableness 
of  the  product  be.  But  none  is  quite  perfect.  As 
no  air-pump  can  by  any  means  make  a  perfect 
vacuum,  so  neither  can*  any  artist  entirely  ex 
clude  the  conventional,  the  local,  the  perishable 
from  his  book,  or  write  a  book  of  pure  thought, 
that  shall  be  as  efficient,  in  all  respects,  to  a  re 
mote  posterity,  as  to  cotemporaries,  or  rather  to 
the  second  age.  Each  age,  it  is  found,  must 
write  its  own  books  ;  or  rather,  each  generation 
for  the  next  succeeding.  The  books  of  an  older 
period  will  not  fit  this. 

Yet  hence  arises  a  grave  mischief.  The  sa- 
credness  which  attaches  to  the  act  of  creation,  — 
the  act  of  thought,  —  is  transferred  to  the  record. 
The  poet  chanting,  was  felt  to  be  a  divine  man : 
henceforth  the  chant  is  divine  also.  The  writer 
was  a  just  and  wise  spirit:  henceforward  it  is 
settled,  the  book  is  perfect ;  as  love  of  the  hero 
corrupts  into  worship  of  his  statue.  Instantly, 
the  book  becomes  noxious  :  the  guide  is  a  tyrant. 


THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR.  85 

The  sluggish  and  perverted  mind  of  the  multi 
tude,  slow  to  open  to  the  incursions  of  Reason, 
having  once  so  opened,  having  once  received  this 
book,  stands  upon  it,  and  makes  an  outcry,  if  it 
is  disparaged.  Colleges  are  built  on  it.  Books 
are  written  on  it  by  thinkers,  not  by  Man  Think 
ing  ;  by  men  of  talent,  that  is,  who  start  wrong, 
who  set  out  from  accepted  dogmas,  not  from 
their  own  sight  of  principles.  Meek  young  men 
grow  up  in  libraries,  believing  it  their  duty  to 
accept  the  views,  which  Cicero,  which  Locke, 
which  Bacon,  have  given  ;  forgetful  that  Cicero, 
Locke,  and  Bacon  were  only  young  men  in  libra 
ries,  when  they  wrote  these  books. 

Hence,  instead  of  Man  Thinking,  we  have  the 
bookworm.  Hence,  the  book-learned  class,  who 
value  books,  as  such ;  not  as  related  to  nature 
and  the  human  constitution,  but  as  making  a 
sort  of  Third  Estate  with  the  world  and  the 
soul.  Hence,  the  restorers  of  readings,  the 
emendators,  the  bibliomaniacs  of  all  degrees. 

Books  are  the  best  of  things,  well  used ; 
abused,  among  the  worst.  What  is  the  right 
use  ?  What  is  the  one  end,  which  all  means  go 
to  effect  ?  They  are  for  nothing  but  to  inspire. 
I  had  better  never  see  a  book,  than  to  be  warped 
by  its  attraction  clean  out  of  my  own  orbit,  and 
made  a  satellite  instead  of  a  system.  The  one 
8 


86  THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

thing  in  the  world,  of  value,  is  the  active  soul. 
This  every  man  is  entitled  to ;  this  every  man 
contains  within  him,  although,  in  almost  all 
men,  obstructed,  and  as  yet  unborn.  The  soul 
active  sees  absolute  truth ;  arid  utters  truth,  or 
creates.  In  this  action,  it  is  genius ;  not  the 
privilege  of  here  and  there  a  favorite,  but  the 
sound  estate  of  every  man.  In  its  essence,  it  is 
progressive.  The  book,  the  college,  the  school 
of  art,  the  institution  of  any  kind,  stop  with 
some  past  utterance  of  genius.  This  is  good, 
say  they,  —  let  us  hold  by  this.  They  pin  me 
down.  They  look  backward  and  not  forward. 
But  genius  looks  forward :  the  eyes  of  man 
are  set  in  his  forehead,  not  in  his  hindhead: 
man  hopes :  genius  creates.  Whatever  talents 
may  be,  if  the  man  create  not,  the  pure  efflux  of 
the  Deity  is  not  his ;  —  cinders  and  smoke  there 
may  be,  but  not  yet  flame.  There  are  creative 
manners,  there  are  creative  actions,  and  creative 
words  ;  manners,  actions,  words,  that  is,  indica 
tive  of  no  custom  or  authority,  but  springing 
spontaneous  from  the  mind's  own  sense  of  good 
and  fair. 

On  the  other  part,  instead  of  being  its  own 
seer,  let  it  receive  from  another  mind  its  truth, 
though  it  were  in  torrents  of  light,  without 
periods  of  solitude,  inquest,  and  self-recovery, 


THE  AMERICAN   SCHOLAK.  87 

and  a  fatal  disservice  is  done.  Genius  is  always 
sufficiently  the  enemy  of  genius  by  over-influ 
ence.  The  literature  of  every  nation  bear  me 
witness.  The  English  dramatic  poets  have 
Shakspearized  now  for  two  hundred  years. 

Undoubtedly  there  is  a  right  way  of  reading, 
so  it  be  sternly  subordinated.  Man  Thinking 
must  not  be  subdued  by  his  instruments.  Books 
are  for  the  scholar's  idle  times.  When  he  can 
read  God  directly,  the  hour  is  too  precious  to  be 
wasted  in  other  men's  transcripts  of  their  read 
ings.  But  when  the  intervals  of  darkness  come, 
as  come  they  must,  —  when  the  sun  is  hid,  and 
the  stars  withdraw  their  shining,  —  we  repair  to 
the  lamps  which  were  kindled  by  their  ray,  to 
guide  our  steps  to  the  East  again,  where  the 
dawn  is.  We  hear,  that  we  may  speak.  The 
Arabian  proverb  says,  "  A  fig  tree,  looking  on  a 
fig  tree,  becometh  fruitful." 

It  is  remarkable,  the  character  of  the  pleasure 
we  derive  from  the  best  books.  They  impress 
us  with  the  conviction,  that  one  nature  wrote 
and  the  same  reads.  We  read  the  verses  of  one 
of  the  great  English  poets,  of  Chaucer,  of  Mar- 
veil,  of  Dryden,  with  the  most  modern  joy,  — 
with  a  pleasure,  I  mean,  which  is  in  great  part 
caused  by  the  abstraction  of  all  time  from  their 
verses.  There  is  some  awe  mixed  with  the  joy 


88  THE   AMERICAN    SCHOLAK. 

of  our  surprise,  when  this  poet,  who  lived  in 
some  past  world,  two  or  three  hundred  years 
ago,  says  that  which  lies  close  to  my  own  soul, 
that  which  I  also  had  wellnigh  thought  and 
said.  But  for  the  evidence  thence  afforded  to 
the  philosophical  doctrine  of  the  identity  of  all 
minds,  we  should  suppose  some  preestablished 
harmony,  some  foresight  of  souls  that  were  to 
be,  and  some  preparation  of  stores  for  their  fu 
ture  wants,  like  the  fact  observed  in  insects, 
who  lay  up  food  before  death  for  the  young  grub 
they  shall  never  see. 

I  would  not  be  hurried  by  any  love  of  system, 
by  any  exaggeration  of  instincts,  to  underrate 
the  Book.  We  all  know,  that,  as  the  human 
body  can  be  nourished  on  any  food,  though  it 
were  boiled  grass  and  the  broth  of  shoes,  so  the 
human  mind  can  be  fed  by  any  knowledge. 
And  great  and  heroic  men  have  existed,  who 
had  almost  no  other  information  than  by  the 
printed  page.  I  only  would  say,  that  it  needs  a 
strong  head  to  bear  that  diet.  One  must  be  an 
inventor  to  read  well.  As  the  proverb  says, 
"  He  that  would  bring  home  the  wealth  of  the 
Indies,  must  carry  out  the  wealth  of  the  Indies." 
There  is  then  creative  reading  as  well  as  creative 
writing.  When  the  mind  is  braced  by  labor 
and  invention,  the  page  of  whatever  book  we 


THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR.  SO 

read  becomes  luminous  with  manifold  allusion. 
Every  sentence  is  doubly  significant,  and  the 
sense  of  our  author  is  as  broad  as  the  world.  • 
We  then  see,  what  is  always  true,  that,  as  the 
seer's  hour  of  vision  is  short  and  rare  among 
heavy  days  and  months,  so  is  its  record,  per 
chance,  the  least  part  of  his  volume.  The  dis 
cerning  will  read,  in  his  Plato  or  Shakspeare,  only 
that  least  part,  —  only  the  authentic  utterances 
of  the  oracle  ;  —  all  the  rest  he  rejects,  were  it 
never  so  many  times  Plato's  and  Shakspeare's. 

Of  course,  there  is  a  portion  of  reading  quite 
indispensable  to  a  wise  man.  History  and  exact 
science  he  must  learn  by  laborious  reading.  Col 
leges,  in  like  manner,  have  their  indispensable 
office,  —  to  teach  elements.  But  they  can  only 
highly  serve  us,  when  they  aim  not  to  drill,  but 
to  create  ;  when  they  gather  from  far  every  ray 
of  various  genius  to  their  hospitable  halls,  and, 
by  the  concentrated  fires,  set  the  hearts  of  their 
youth  on  flame.  Thought  and  knowledge  are 
natures  in  which  apparatus  and  pretension  avail 
nothing.  Gowns,  and  pecuniary  foundations, 
though  of  towns  of  gold,  can  never  countervail 
the  least  sentence  or  syllable  of  wit.  Forget 
this,  and  our  American  colleges  will  recede  in 
their  public  importance,  whilst  they  grow  richer 
every  year. 

8* 


90  THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

III.  There  goes  in  the  world  a  notion,  that 
the  scholar  should  be  a  recluse,  a  valetudina 
rian, —  as  unfit  for  any  handiwork  or  public 
labor,  as  a  penknife  for  an  axe.  The  so'-called 
4  practical  men '  sneer  at  speculative  men,  as  if, 
because  they  speculate  or  see,  they  could  do 
nothing.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  the  clergy, 
—  who  are  always,  more  universally  than  any 
other  class,  the  scholars  of  -  their  day, —  are  ad 
dressed  as  women ;  that  the  rough,  spontaneous 
conversation  of  men  they  do  not  hear,  but  only 
a  mincing  and  diluted  speech.  They  are  often 
virtually  disfranchised ;  and,  indeed,  there  are 
advocates  for  their  celibacy.  As  far  as  this  is 
true  of  the  studious  classes,  it  is  not  just  and 
wise.  Action  is  with  the  scholar  subordinate, 
but  it  is  essential.  Without  it,  he  is  not  yet 
man.  Witho.ut  it,  thought  can  never  ripen  into 
truth.  Whilst  the  world  hangs  before  the  eye 
as  a  cloud  of  beauty,  we  cannot  even  see  its 
beauty.  Inaction  is  cowardice,  but  there  can  be 
no  scholar  without  the  heroic  mind.  The  pre 
amble  of  thought,  the  transition  through  which 
it  passes  from  the  unconscious  to  the  conscious, 
is  action.  Only  so  much  do  I  know,  as  I  have 
lived.  Instantly  we  know  whose  words  are 
loaded  with  life,  and  whose  not. 

The    world,  —  this   shadow   of  the    soul,  or 


THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR.  91 

other  me,  lies  wide  around.  Its  attractions  a,re 
the  keys  which  unlock  my  thoughts  and  make 
me  acquainted  with  myself.  I  run  eagerly  into 
this  resounding  tumult.  I  grasp  the  hands  of 
those  next  me,  and  take  my  place  in  the  ring 
to  suffer  and  to  work,  taught  by  an  instinct,  that 
so  shall  the  dumb  abyss  be  vocal  with  speech. 
I  pierce  its  order ;  I  dissipate  its  fear  ;  I  dispose 
of  it  within  .the  circuit  of  my  expanding  life. 
So  much  only  of  life  as  I  know  by  experience, 
so  much  of  the  wilderness  have  I  vanquished 
and  planted,  or  so  far  have  I  extended  my  being, 
my  dominion.  I  do  not  see  how  any  man  can 
afford,  for  the  sake  of  his  nerves  and  his  nap,  to 
spare  any  action  in  which  he  can  partake.  It  is 
pearls  and  rubies  to  his  discourse.  Drudgery, 
calamity,  exasperation,  want,  are  instructors  in 
eloquence  and  wisdom.  The  true  scholar  grudges 
every  opportunity  of  action  past  by,  as  a  loss  of 
power. 

It  is  the  raw  material  out  of  which  the  intel 
lect  moulds  her  splendid  products.  A  strange 
process  too,  this,  by  which .  experience  is  con 
verted  into  thought,  as  a  mulberry  leaf  is 
converted  into  satin.  .The  manufacture  goes 
forward  at  all  hours. 

The  actions  and  events  of  our  childhood  and 
youth,  are  now  matters  of  calmest  observation. 


92  THE   AMERICAN    SCHOLAR. 

They  lie  like  fair  pictures  in  the  air.  Not  so 
with  our  recent  actions,  —  with  the  business 
which  we  now  have  in  hand.  On  this  we  are 
quite  unable  to  speculate.  Our  affections  as  yet 
circulate  through  it.  We  no  more  feel  or  know 
it,  than  we  feel  the  feet,  or  the  hand,  or  the 
brain  of  our  body.  The  new  deed  is  yet  a  part 
of  life,  —  remains  for  a  time  immersed  in  our 
unconscious  life.  In  some  contemplative  hour, 
it  detaches  itself  from  the  life  like  a  ripe  fruit,  to 
become  a  thought  of  the  mind.  Instantly,  it  is 
raised,  transfigured ;  the  corruptible  has  put  on 
incorruption.  Henceforth  it  is  an  object  of 
beauty,  however  base  its  origin  and  neighbor 
hood.  Observe,  too,  the  impossibility  of  ante 
dating  this  act.  In  its  grub  state,  it  cannot  fly, 
it  cannot  shine,  it  is  a  dull  grub.  But  suddenly, 
without  observation,  the  selfsame  thing  unfurls 
beautiful  wings,  and  is  an  angel  of  wisdom.  So 
is  there  no  fact,  no  event,  in  our  private  history, 
which  shall  not,  sooner  or  later,  lose  its  adhesive, 
inert  form,  and  astonish  us  by  soaring  from  our 
body  into  the  empyrean.  Cradle  and  infancy, 
school  and  playground,  the  fear  of  boys,  and 
dogs,  and  ferules,  the  love  of  little  maids  and 
berries,  and  many  another  fact  that  once  filled 
the  whole  sky,  are  gone  already;  friend  and 
relative,  profession  and  party,  town  and  coun- 


THE  AMERICAN   SCHOLAR.  93 

try,  nation  and  world,  must  also  soar  and 
sing. 

Of  course,  he  who  has*  put  forth  his  total 
strength  in  fit  actions,  has  the  richest  return  of 
wisdom.  I  will  not  shut  myself  out  of  this  globe 
of  action,  and  transplant  an  oak  into  a  flower-pot, 
there  to  hunger  and  pine  ;  nor  trust  the  revenue 
of  some  single  faculty,  and  exhaust  one  vein  of 
thought,  much  like  those  Savoyards,  who,  getting 
their  livelihood  by  carving  shepherds,  shepherd 
esses,  and  smoking  Dutchmen,  for  all  Europe, 
went  out  one  day  to  the  mountain  to  find  stock, 
and  discovered  that  they  had  whittled  up  the 
last  of  their  pine-trees.  Authors  we  have,  in 
numbers,  who  have  written  out  their  vein,  and 
who,  moved  by  a  commendable  prudence,  sail 
for  Greece  or  Palestine,  follow  the  trapper  into 
the  prairie,  or  ramble  found  Algiers,  to  replenish 
their  merchantable  stock. 

If  it  were  only  for  a  vocabulary,  the  scholar 
would  be  covetous  of  action.  Life  is  our  dic 
tionary.  Years  are  well  spent  in  country  labors ; 
in  town,  —  in  the  insight  into  trades  and  manu 
factures  ;  in  frank  intercourse  with  many  men 
and  women ;  in  science ;  in  art ;  to  the  one  end 
of  mastering  in  all  their  facts  a  language  by 
which  to  illustrate  and  embody  our  perceptions. 
I  learn  immediately  from  any  speaker  how  much 


94  THE  AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

he  has  already  lived,  through  the  poverty  or  the 
splendor  of  his  speech.  Life  lies  behind  us  as 
the  quarry  from  whence  \ve  get  tiles  and  cope- 
stones  for  the  masonry  of  to-day.  This  is  the 
way  to  learn  grammar.  Colleges  and  books  only 
copy  the  language  which  the  field  and  the  work- 
yard  made. 

But  the  final  value  of  action,  like  that  of 
books,  and  better  than  books,  is,  that  it  is  a 
resource.  That  great  principle  of  Undulation  in 
nature,  that  shows  itself  in  the  inspiring  and  ex 
piring  of  the  breath ;  in  desire  and  satiety ;  in 
the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  sea;  in  day  and  night; 
in  heat  and  cold;  and  as  yet  more  deeply  in 
grained  in  every  atom  and  every  fluid,  is  known 
to  us  under  the  name  of  Polarity,  — these  "  fits 
of  easy  transmission  and  reflection,"  as  Newton 
called  them,  are  the  law  of  nature  because  they 
are  the  law  of  spirit. 

The  mind  now  thinks;  now  acts;  and  each 
fit  reproduces  the  other.  When  the  artist  has 
exhausted  his  materials,  when  the  fancy  no 
]  »nger  paints,  when  thoughts  are  no  longer  ap 
prehended,  and  books  are  a  weariness,  —  he  has 
always  the  resource  to  live.  Character  is  higher 
than  intellect.  Thinking  is  the  function.  Liv 
ing  is  the  functionary.  The  stream  retreats  to 
its  source.  A  great  soul  will  be  strong  to  live, 


THIS   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR.  95 

as  well  as  strong  to  think.  Does  he  lack  organ 
or  medium  to  impart  his  truth?  He  can  still 
fall  back  on  this  elemental  force  of  living  them. 
This  is  a  total  act.  Thinking  is  a  partial  act. 
Let  the  grandeur  of  justice  shine  in  his  affairs. 
Let  the  beauty  of  affection  cheer  his  lowly  roof. 
Those  c  far  from  fame,'  who  dwell  and  act  with 
him,  will  feel  the  force  of  his  constitution  in  the 
doings  and  passages  of  the  day  better  than  it  can 
be  measured  by  any  public  and  designed  display. 
Time  shall  teach  him,  that  the  scholar  loses  no 
hour  which  the  man  lives.  Herein  he  unfolds 
the  sacred  germ  of  his  instinct,  screened  from 
influence.  What  is  lost  in  seemliness  is  gained 
in  strength.  Not  out  of  those,  on  whom  sys 
tems  of  education  have  exhausted  their  culture, 
comes  the  helpful  giant  to  destroy  the  old  or  to 
build  the  new,  but  out  of  unhandselled  savage 
nature,  out  of  terrible  Druids  and  Berserkirs, 
come  at  last  Alfred  and  Skakspeare. 

I  hear  therefore  with  joy  whatever  is  begin 
ning  to  be  said  of  the  dignity  and  necessity  of 
labor  to  every  citizen.  There  is  virtue  yet  in 
the  hoe  and  the  spade,  for  learned  as  well  as 
for  unlearned  hands.  And  labor  is  everywhere 
welcome ;  always  we  are  invited  to  work ;  only 
be  this  limitation  observed,  that  a  man  shall 
not  for  the  sake  of  wider  activity  sacrifice  any 


96  THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

opinion  to  the  popular  judgments  and  modes  of 
^action. 

I  have  now  spoken  of  the  education  of  the 
scholar  by  nature,  by  books,  and  by  action.  It 
remains  to  say  somewhat  of  his  duties. 

They  are  such  as  become  Man  Thinking. 
They  may  all  be  comprised  in  self-trust.  The 
office  of  the  scholar  is  to  cheer,  to  raise,  and  to 
guide  men  by  showing  them  facts  amidst  ap 
pearances.  He  plies  the  slow,  unhonored,  and 
unpaid  task  of  observation.  Flamsteed  and  Her- 
schel,  in  their  glazed  observatories,  may  cata 
logue  the  stars  with  the  praise  of  all  men,  and, 
the  results  being  splendid  and  useful,  honor  is 
sure.  But  he,  in  his  private  observatory,  cata 
loguing  obscure  and  nebulous  stars  of  the  human 
mind,  which  as  yet  no  man  has  thought  of  as 
such,  —  watching  days  and  months,  sometimes, 
for  a  few  facts  ;  correcting  still  his  old  records  ; 
—  must  relinquish  display  and  immediate  fame. 
In  the  long  period  of  his  preparation,  he  must 
betray  often  an  ignorance  and  shiftlessness  in 
popular  arts,  incurring  the  disdain  of  the  able 
who  shoulder  him  aside.  Long  he  must  stam 
mer  in  his  speech  ;  often  forego  the  living  for 
the  dead.  Worse  yet,  he  must  accept,  —  how 
often !  poverty  and  solitude.  For  the  ease  and 


THE  AMERICAN   SCHOLAR.  97 

pleasure  of  treading  the  old  road,  accepting  the 
fashions,  the  education,  the  religion  of  society, 
he  takes  the  cross  of  making  his  own,  and,  of 
course,  the  self-accusation,  the  faint  heart,  the 
frequent  uncertainty  and  loss  of  time,  which  are 
the  nettles  and  tangling  vines  in  the  way  of  the 
self-relying  and  self-directed;  and  the  state  of 
virtual  hostility  in  which  he  seems  to  stand  to 
society,  and  especially  to  educated  society.  For 
all  this  loss  and  scorn,  what  offset  ?  He  is  to 
find  consolation  in  exercising  the  highest  func 
tions  of  human  nature.  He  is  one,  who  raises 
himself  from  private  considerations,  and  breathes 
and  lives  on  public  and  illustrious  thoughts.  He 
is  the  world's  eye.  He  is  the  world's  heart.  He 
is  to  resist  the  vulgar  prosperity  that  retrogrades 
ever  to  barbarism,  by  preserving  and  communi 
cating  heroic  sentiments,  noble  biographies,  me 
lodious  verse,  and  the  conclusions  of  history. 
Whatsoever  oracles  the  human  heart,  in  all 
emergencies,  in  all  solemn  hours,  has  uttered  as 
its  commentary  on  the  world  of  actions,  —  these 
he  shall  receive  and  impart.  And  whatsoever 
new  verdict  Reason  from  her  inviolable  seat 
pronounces  on  the  passing  men  and  events  of 
to-day, — this  he  shall  hear  and  promulgate. 

These  being  his  functions,  it  becomes  him  to 
feel  all  confidence  in  himself,  and  to  defer  never 
9 


98  THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

to  the  popular  cry.  He  and  he  only  knows  the 
world.  The  world  of  any  moment  is  the  merest 
appearance.  Some  great  decorum,  some  fetish 
of  a  government,  some  ephemeral  trade,  or  war, 
or  man,  is  cried  up  by  half  mankind  and  cried 
down  by  the  other  half,  as  if  all  depended  on 
this  particular  up  or  down.  The  odds  are  that 
the  whole  question  is  not  worth  the  poorest 
thought  which  the  scholar  has  lost  in  listening 
to  the  controversy.  Let  him  not  quit  his  belief 
that  a  popgun  is  a  popgun,  though  the  ancient 
and  honorable  of  the  earth  affirm  it  to  be  the 
crack  of  doom.  In  silence,  in  steadiness,  in  se 
vere  abstraction,  let  him  hold  by  himself;  add 
observation  to  observation,  patient  of  neglect, 
patient  of  reproach;  and  bide  his  own  time, — 
happy  enough,  if  he  can  satisfy  himself  alone, 
that  this  day  he  has  seen  something  truly.  Sus- 
cess  treads  on  every  right  step.  For  the  instinct 
is  sure,  that  prompts  him  to  tell  his  brother  what 
he  thinks.  He  then  learns,  that  in  going  down 
into  the  secrets  of  his  own  mind,  he  has  de 
scended  into  the  secrets  of  all  minds.  He  learns 
that  he  who  has  mastered  any  law  in  his  private 
thoughts,  is  master  to  that  extent  of  all  men 
whose  language  he  speaks,  and  of  all  into  whose 
language  his  own  can  be  translated.  The  poet, 
in  utter  solitude  remembering  his  spontaneous 


THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR.  99 

thoughts  and  recording  them,  is  found  to  have 
recorded  that,  which  men  in  crowded  cities  find 
true  for  them  also.     The  orator  distrusts  at  first 
the  fitness  of  his  frank  confessions,  —  his  want 
of   knowledge  of   the  persons  he  addresses,  —  -^ 
until  he  finds  that  he  is  the  compliment  of  his 
hearers ;  —  that   they   drink    his  words  because    I 
he  fulfils  for  them  their  own  nature  ;  the  deeper  t 
he   dives  into  his    privatest,  secretest    presenti 
ment,  to  his  wonder  he  finds,  this  is  the  most 
acceptable,  most   public,   and   universally  true. 
The   people  delight   in  it  ;   the    better  part  of 
every  man  feels,  This  is  my  music ;  this  is  my 
self. 

In  self-trust,  all  the  virtues  are  comprehended. 
Free  should  the  scholar  be,  —  free  and  brave. 
Free  even  to  the  definition  of  freedom,  "with 
out  any  hindrance  that  does  not  arise  out  of  his 
own  constitution."  Brave ;  for  fear  is  a  thing, 
which  a  scholar  by  his  very  function  puts  be 
hind  him.  Fear  always  springs  from  ignorance. 
It  is  a  shame  to  him  if  his  tranquillity,  amid 
dangerous  times,  arise  from  the  presumption, 
that,  like  children  and  women,  his  is  a  protected 
class ;  or  if  he  seek  a  temporary  peace  by  the 
diversion  of  his  thoughts  from  politics  or  vexed 
questions,  hiding  his  head  like  an  ostrich  in  the 
flowering  bushes,  peeping  into  microscopes,  and 


100  THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

turning  rhymes,  as  a  boy  whistles  to  keep  his 
courage  up.  So  is  the  danger  a  danger  still ;  so 
is  the  fear  worse.  Manlike  let  him  turn  and  face 
it.  Let  him  look  into  its  eye  and  search  its  na 
ture,  inspect  its  origin,  —  see  the  whelping  of 
this  lion,  —  which  lies  no  great  way  back ;  he 
will  then  find  in  himself  a  perfect  comprehen 
sion  of  its  nature  and  extent ;  he  will  have  made 
his  hands  meet  on  the  other  side,  and  can  hence 
forth  defy  it,  and  pass  on  superior.  The  world 
is  his,  who  can  see  through  its  pretension.  What 
deafness,  what  stone-blind  custom,  what  over 
grown  error  you  behold,  is  there  only  by  suffer 
ance,  —  by  your ,  sufferance.  See  it  to  be  a  lie, 
and  you  have  already  dealt  it  its  mortal  blow. 

Yes,  we  are  the  cowed,  —  we  the  trustless. 
It  is  a  mischievous  notion  that  we  are  come  late 
into  nature  ;  that  the  world  was  finished  a  long 
time  ago.  As  the  world  was  plastic  and  fluid  in 
the  hands  of  God,  so  it  is  ever  to  so  much  of  his 
attributes  as  we  bring  to  it.  To  ignorance  and 
sin,  it  is  flint.  They  adapt  themselves  to  it  as 
they  may ;  but  in  proportion  as  a  man  has  any 
thing  in  him  divine,  the  firmament  flows  before 
him  and  takes  his  signet  and  form.  Not  he  is 
great  who  can  alter  matter,  but  he  who  can  alter 
my  state  of  mind.  They  are  the  kings  of  the 
world  who  give  the  color  of  their  present  thought 


THE   AMERICAN    SCHOLAR.  101 

to  all  nature  and  all  art,  and  persuade  men  by  the 
cheerful  serenity  of  their  carrying  the  matter, 
that  this  thing  which  they  do,  is  the  apple  which 
the  ages  have  desired  to  pluck,  now  at  last  ripe, 
and  inviting  nations  to  the  harvest.  The.  great 
man  makes  the  great  thing.  Wherever  Macdon- 
ald  sits,  there  is  the  head  of  the  table.  Linnaeus 
makes  botany  the  most  alluring  of  studies,  and 
wins  it  from  the  farmer  and  the  herb-woman ; 
Davy,  chemistry  ;  and  Cuvier,  fossils.  The  day 
is  always  his,  who  works  in  it  with  serenity  and 
great  aims.  The  unstable  estimates  of  men 
crowd  to  him  whose  mind  is  filled  with  a  truth, 
as  the  heaped  waves  of  the  Atlantic  follow  the 
moon. 

For  this  self-trust,  the  reason  is  deeper  than 
can  be  fathomed,  —  darker  than  can  be  enlight 
ened.  I  might  not  carry  with  me  the  feeling  of 
my  audience  in  stating  my  own  belief.  But  I 
have  already  shown  the  ground  of  my  hope,  in 
adverting  to  the  doctrine  that  man  is  one.  I  be 
lieve  man  has  been  wronged  ;  he  has  wronged 
himself.  He  has  almost  lost  the  light,  that  can 
lead  him  back  to  his  prerogatives.  Men  are  be 
come  of  no  account.  Men  in  history,  men  in  the 
world  of  to-day  are  bugs,  are  spawn,  and  are 
called  4  the  mass  '  and  <  the  herd.'  In  a  century 
in  a  millennium,  one  or  two  men  ;  that  is  to  say, 
9* 


102  THE  AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

—  one  or  two  approximations  to  the  right  state 
of  every  man*  All  the  rest  behold  in  the  hero 
or  the  poet  their  own  green  and  crude  being,  — 
ripened  ;  yes,  and  are  content  to  be  less,  so  that 
may  attain  to  its  full  stature.  What  a  testi 
mony,  —  full  of  grandeur,  full  of  pity,  is  borne 
to  the  demands  of  his  own  nature,  by  the  poor 
clansman,  the  poor  partisan,  who  rejoices  in  the 
glory  of  his  chief.  The  poor  and  the  low  find 
some  amends  to  their  immense  moral  capacity, 
for  their  acquiescence  in  a  political  and  social 
inferiority.  They  are  content  to  be  brushed 
like  flies  from  the  path  of  a  great  person,  so  that 
justice  shall  be  done  by  him  to  that  common 
nature  which  it  is  the  dearest  desire  of  all  to  see 
enlarged  and  glorified.  They  sun  themselves  in 
the  great  man's  light,  and  feel  it  to  be  their  own 
element.  They  cast  the  dignity  of  man  from 
their  downtrod  selves  upon  the  shoulders  of  a 
hero,  and  will  perish  to  add  one  drop  of  blood 
to  make  that  great  heart  beat,  those  giant  sinews 
combat  and  conquer.  He  lives  for  us,  and  we 
live  in  him. 

Men  such  as  they  are,  very  naturally  seek 
money  or  power ;  and  power  because  it  is  as 
good  as  money,  —  the  "  spoils,"  so  called,  "  of 
office."  And  why  not?  for  they  aspire  to  the 
highest,  and  this,  in  their  sleep-walking,  they 


THE  AMERICAN   SCHOLAR.  103 

dream  is  highest.  "Wake  them,  and  they  shall 
quit  the  false  good,  and  leap  to  the  true,  and 
leave  governments  to  clerks  and  desks.  This 
revolution  is  to  be  wrought  by  the  gradual  do 
mestication  of  the  idea  of  Culture.  The  main 
enterprise  of  the  world  for  splendor,  for  extent, 
is  the  upbuilding  of  a  man.  Here  are  the  ma 
terials  strown  along  the  ground.  The  private 
life  of  one  man  shall  be  a  more  illustrious  mon 
archy,  —  more  formidable  to  its  enemy,  more 
sweet  and  serene  in  its  influence  to  its  friend, 
than  any  kingdom  in  history.  For  a  man, 
rightly  viewed,  comprehendeth  the  particular 
natures  of  all  men.  Each  philosopher,  each 
bard,  each  actor,  has  only  done  for  me,  as  by  a 
delegate,  what  one  day  I  can  do  for  myself. 
The  books  which  once  we  valued  more  than 
the  apple  of  the  eye,  we  have  quite  exhausted. 
What  is  that  but  saying,  that  we  have  come 
up  with  the  point  of  view  which  the  univer 
sal  mind  took  through  the  eyes  of  one  scribe ; 
we  have  been  that  man,  and  have  passed  on. 
First,  one ;  then,  another ;  we  drain  all  cisterns, 
and,  waxing  greater  by  all  these  supplies,  we 
crave  a  better  and  more  abundant  food.  The 
man  has  never  lived  that  can  feed  us  ever.  The 
human  mind  cannot  be  enshrined  in  a  person, 
who  shall  set  a  barrier  on  any  one  side  to  this 


104  THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

;  unbounded,  unboundable  empire.  It  is  one  cen 
tral  fire,  which,  flaming  now  out  of  the  lips  of 
Etna,  lightens  the  capes  of  Sicily  ;  and,  now 
out  of  the  throat  of  Vesuvius,  illuminates  the 
towers  and  vineyards  of  Naples.  It  is  one  light 
which  beams  out  of  a  thousand  stars.  It  is  one 
soul  which  animates  all  men. 

But  I  have  dwelt  perhaps  tediously  upon  this 
abstraction  of  the  Scholar.  I  ought  not  to  delay 
longer  to  add  what  I  have  to  say,  of  nearer 
reference  to  *the  time  and  to  this  country. 

Historically,  there  is  thought  to  be  a  difference 
in  the  ideas  which  predominate  over  successive 
epochs,  and  there  are  data  for  marking  the  genius 
of  the  Classic,  of  the  Romantic,  and  now  of  the 
Reflective  or  Philosophical  age.  With  the  views 
I  have  intimated  of  the  oneness  or  the  identity 
of  the  mind  through  all  individuals,  I  do  not 
much  dwell  on  these  differences.  In  fact,  I 
believe  each  individual  passes  through  all  three. 
The  boy  is  a  Greek;  the  youth,  romantic;  the 
adult,  reflective.  I  deny  not,  however,  that  a 
revolution  in  the  leading  idea  may  be  distinctly 
enough  traced. 

Our  age  is  bewailed  as  the  age  of  Introversion. 
Must  that  needs  be  evil  ?  We,  it  seems,  are  crit 
ical  ;  we  are  embarrassed  with  second  thoughts ; 


THE  AMERICAN   SCHOLAR.  105 

we  cannot  enjoy  any  thing  for  hankering  to 
know  whereof  the  pleasure  consists ;  we  are  lined 
with  eyes ;  we  see  with  our  feet ;  the  time  is 
infected  with  Hamlet's  unhappiness, — 

"  Sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought." 

It  is  so  bad  then  ?  Sight  is  the  last  thing  to 
be  pitied.  Would  we  be  blind?  Do  we  fear 
lest  we  should  outsee  nature  and  God,  and  drink 
truth  dry  ?  I  look  upon  the  discontent  of  the 
literary  class,  as  a  mere  announcement  of  the 
fact,  that  they  find  themselves  not  in  the  state 
of  mind  of  their  fathers,  and  regret  the  coming 
state  as  untried  ;  as  a  boy  dreads  the  water  be 
fore  he  has  learned  that  he  can  swim.  If  there 
is  any  period  one  would  desire  to  be  born  in, 
—  is  it  not  the  age  of  Revolution;  when  the 
old  and  the  new  stand  side  by  side,  and  admit  of 
being  compared  ;  when  the  energies  of  all  men 
are  searched  by  fear  and  by  hope;  when  the 
historic  glories  of  the  old,  can  be  compensated 
by  the  rich  possibilities  of  the -new  era?  This 
time,  like  all  times,  is  a  very  good  one,  if  we 
but  know  what  to  do  with  it. 

I  read  with  some  joy  of  the  auspicious  signs 
of  the  coming  days,  as  they  glimmer  already 
through  poetry  and  art,  through  philosophy  and 
science,  through  church  and  state. 


105  THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

One  of  these  signs  is  the  fact,  that  the  same 
movement  which  effected  the  elevation  of  what 
was  called  the  lowest  class  in  the  state,  assu  med  in 
literature  a  very  marked  and  as  benign  an  aspect. 
Instead  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful;  the  near, 
the  low,  the  common,  was  explored  and  poetized. 
That,  which  had  been  negligently  trodden  under 
foot  by  those  who  were  harnessing  and  provis 
ioning  themselves  for  long  journeys  into  far 
countries,  is  suddenly  found  to  be  richer  than  all 
foreign  parts.  The  literature  of  the  poor,  the 
feelings  of  the  child,  the  philosophy  of  the  street, 
the  meaning  of  household  life,  are  the  topics  of 
the  time.  It  is  a  great  stride.  It  is  a  sign,  —  is 
it  not?  of  new  vigor,  when  the  extremities  are 
made  active,  when  currents  of  warm  life  run 
into  the  hands  and  the  feet.  I  ask  not  for  the 
great,  the  remote,  the  romantic ;  what  is  doing 
in  Italy  or  Arabia ;  what  is  Greek  art,  or  Pro- 
venial  minstrelsy;  I  embrace  the  common,  I  ex 
plore  and  sit  at  the  feet  of  the  familiar,  the  low. 
Give  me  insight  into  to-day,  and  you  may  have 
the  antique  and  future  worlds.  What  would  we 
really  know  the  meaning  of  ?  The  meal  in  the 
firkin;  the  milk  in  the  pan;  the  ballad  in  the 
street ;  the  news  of  the  boat ;  the  glance  of  the 
eye  ;  the  form  and  the  gait  of  the  body ;  —  show 
me  the  ultimate  reason  of  these  matters ;  show 


THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR.  107 


me  the  sublime  presence  of  the  highest  spiritual 
cause  lurking,  as  always  it  does  lurk,  in  these 
surburbs  and  extremities  of  nature  ;  let  me  see 
every  trifle  bristling  with  the  polarity  that 
ranges  it  instantly  on  an  eternal  law;  and  the 
shop,  the  plough,  and  the  leger,  referred  to  the 
like  cause  by  wl^ch  light  undulates  and  poets 
sing ;  —  and  the  world  lies  no  longer  a  dull 
miscellany  and  lumber-room,  but  has  form  and 
order ;  there  is  no  trifle  ;  there  is  no  puzzle ;  but 
one  design  unites  and  animates  the  farthest  pin 
nacle  and  the  lowest  trench. 

This  idea  has  inspired  the  genius  of  Gold 
smith,  Burns,  Cowper,  and,  in  a  newer  time,  of 
Goethe,  Wordsworth,  and  Carlyle.  This  idea 
they  have  differently  followed  and  with  various 
success.  In  contrast  with  their  writing,  the  style 
of  Pope,  of  Johnson,  of  Gibbon,  looks  cold  and 
pedantic.  This  writing  is  blood-warm.  Man  is 
surprised  to  find  that  things  near  are  not  less 
beautiful  and  wondrous  than  things  remote. 
The  near  explains  the  far.  The  drop  is  a  small 
ocean.  A  man  is  related  to  all  nature.  This 
perception  of  the  worth  of  the  vulgar  is  fruitful 
in  discoveries.  Goethe,  in  this  very  thing  the 
most  modern  of  the  moderns,  has  shown  us,  as 
none  ever  did,  the  genius  of  the  ancients. 

There  is  one  man  of  genius,  who  has  done 


108  THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

much  for  this  philosophy  of  life,  whose  literary 
value  has  never  yet  been  rightly  estimated ;  — 
I  mean  Emanuel  Swedenborg.  The  most  imag 
inative  of  men,  yet  writing  with  the  precision 
of  a  mathematician,  he  endeavored  to  engraft  a 
purely  philosophical  Ethics  on  the  popular  Chris 
tianity  of  his  time.  Such  an  Attempt,  of  course, 
must  have  difficulty,  which  no  genius  could  sur 
mount.  But  he  saw  and  showed  the  connection 
between  nature  and  the  affections  of  the  soul. 
He  pierced  the  errjblematic  or  spiritual  character 
of  the  visible,  audible,  tangible  world.  Especi 
ally  did  his  shade-loving  muse  hover  over  and 
interpret  the  lower  parts  of  nature ;  he  showed 
the  mysterious  bond  that  allies  moral  evil  to  the 
foul  material  forms,  and  has  given  in  epical  par 
ables  a  theory  of  insanity,  of  beasts,  of  unclean 
and  fearful  things. 

Another  sign  of  our  times,  also  marked  by  an 
analogous  political  movement,  is,  the  new  impor 
tance  given  to  the  single  person.  Every  thing 
that  tends  to  insulate  the  individual,  —  to  sur 
round  him  with  barriers  of  natural  respect,  so 
that  each  man  shall  feel  the  world  is  his,  and 
man  shall  treat  with  man  as  a  sovereign  state 
with  a  sovereign  state  ;  —  tends  to  true  union 
as  well  as  greatness.  "  I  learned,"  said  the 
melancholy  Pestalozzi,  "  that  no  man  in  God's 


THE  AMERICAN   SCHOLAR.  109 

wide  earth  is  either  willing  or  able  to  help  any 
other  man."  Help  must  come  from  the  bosom 
alone.  The  scholar  is  that  man  who  must  take 
up  into  himself  all  the  ability  of  the  time,  all 
the  contributions  of  the  past,  all  the  hopes  of 
the  future.  He  must  be  an  university  of  knowl 
edges.  If  there  be  one  lesson  more  than  another, 
which  should  pierce  his  ear,  it  is,  The  world  is 
nothing,  the  man  is  all ;  in  yourself  is  the  law 
of  all  nature,  and  you  know  not  yet  how  a  glo 
bule  of  sap  ascends;  in  yourself  slumbers  the 
whole  of  Reason ;  it  is  for  you  to  know  all,  it 
is  for  you  to  dare  all.  Mr.  President  and  Gentle 
men,  this  confidence  in  the  unsearched  might  of 
man  belongs,  by  all  motives,  by  all  prophecy,  by 
all  preparation,  to  the  American  Scholar.  We 
have  listened  too  long  to  the  courtly  muses  of 
Europe.  The  spirit  of  the  American  freeman  is 
already  suspected  to  be  timid,  imitative,  tame. 
Public  and  private  avarice  make  the  air  we 
breathe  thick  and  fat.  The  scholar  is  decent, 
indolent,  complaisant.  See  already  the  tragic 
consequence.  The  rnind  of  this  country,  taught 
to  aim  at  low  objects,  eats  upon  itself.  There 
is  no  work  for  any  but  the  decorous  and  the 
complaisant.  Young  men  of  the  fairest  promise, 
who  begin  life  upon  our  shores,  inflated  by  the 
mountain  winds,  shined  upon  by  all  the  stars  of 
10 


110  THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR. 

God,  find  the  earth  below  not  in  unsion  with 
these,  —  but  are  hindered  from  action  by  the 
disgust  which  the  principles  on  which  business 
is  managed  inspire,  and  turn  drudges,  or  die  of 
disgust,  —  some  of  them  suicides.  What  is'the 
remedy?  The  ydid  not  yet  see,  and  thousands 
of  young  men  as  hopeful  now  crowding  to  the 
barriers  for  the  career,  do  not  yet  see,  that,  if  the 
single  man  plant  himself  indomitably  on  his 
instincts,  and  there  abide,  the  huge  world  will 
come  round  to  him.  Patience,  —  patience  ;  — 
with  the  shades  of  all  the  good  and  great  for 
company  ;  and  for  solace,  the  perspective  of  your 
own  infinite  life ;  and  for  work,  the  study  and 
the  communication  of  principles,  the  making 
those  instincts  prevalent,  the  conversation  of  the 
world.  Is  it  not  the  chief  disgrace  in  the  world, 
not  to  be  an  unit ;  —  not  to  be  reckoned  one 
character; — not  to  yield  that  peculiar  fruit 
which  each  man  was  created  to  bear,  but  to  be 
reckoned  in  the  gross,  in  the  hundred,  or  the 
thousand,  of  the  party,  the  section,  to  which  we 
belong ;  and  our  opinion  predicted  geograph 
ically,  as  the  north,  or  the  south  ?  Not  so, 
brothers  and  friends,  —  please  God,  ours  shall 
not  be  so.  We  will  walk  on  our  own  feet ;  we 
will  work  with  our  own  hands ;  we  will  speak 
our  own  minds.  The  study  of  letters  shall  be 


THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR.  Ill 

no  longer  a  name  for  pity,  for  doubt,  and  for 
sensual  indulgence.  The  dread  of  man  and  the 
love  of  man  shall  be  a  wall  of  defence  and  a 
wreath  of  joy  around  all.  A  nation  of  men  will 
for  the  first  time  exist,  because  each  believes 
himself  inspired  by  the  Divine  Soul  which  also 
inspires  all  men. 


AN  ADDRESS 


DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  SENIOR  CLASS  IN  DIVINITY  COLLEGE, 
CAMBRIDGE,  SUNDAY  EVENING,  JULY  15,  1838. 


ADDRESS. 


IN  this  refulgent  summer,  it  has  been  a  luxury 
to  draw  the  breath  of  life.  The  grass  grows, 
the  buds  burst,  the  meadow  is  spotted  with  fire 
and  gold  in  the  tint  of  flowers.  The  air  is  full 
of  birds,  and  sweet  with  the  breath  of  the  pine, 
the  balm-of-Gilead,  and  the  new  hay.  Night 
brings  no  gloom  to  the  heart  with  its  welcome 
shade.  Through  the  transparent  darkness  the 
stars  pour  their  almost  spiritual  rays.  Man  under 
them  seems  a  young  child,  and  his  huge  globe  a 
toy.  The  cool  night  bathes  the  world  as  with 
a  river,  and  prepares  his  eyes  again  for  the  crim 
son  dawn.  The  mystery  of  nature  was  never 
displayed  more  happily.  The  corn  and  the  wine 
have  been  freely  dealt  to  all  creatures,  and  the 
never-broken  silence  with  which  the  old  bounty 
goes  forward,  has  not  yielded  yet  one  word  of 


116  ADDRESS. 

explanation.  One  is  constrained  to  respect  the 
perfection  of  this  world,  in  which  our  senses 
converse.  How  wide  ;  how  rich  ;  what  invita 
tion  from  every  property  it  gives  to  every  faculty 
of  man!  In  its  fruitful  soils;  in  its  navigable 
sea ;  in  its  mountains  of  metal  and  stone ;  in  its 
forests  of  all  woods  ;  in  its  animals  ;  in  its  chemi 
cal  ingredients  ;  in  the  powers  and  path  of  light, 
heat,  attraction,  and  life,  it  is  well  worth  the 
pith  and  heart  of  great  men  to  subdue  and  en 
joy  it.  The  planters,  the  mechanics,  the  inven 
tors,  the  astronomers,  the  builders  of  cities,  and 
the  captains,  history  delights  to  honor. 

But  when  the  mind  opens,  and  reveals  the 
laws  which  traverse  the  universe,  and  make 
things  what  they  are,  then  shrinks  the  great 
world  at  once  into  a  mere  illustration  and  fable 
of  this  mind.  What  am  I  ?  and  What  is  ?  asks 
the  human  spirit  with  a  curiosity  new-kindled, 
but  never  to  be  quenched.  Behold  these  out 
running  laws,  which  pur  imperfect  apprehension 
can  see  tend  this  way  and  that,  but  not  come 
full  circle.  Behold  these  infinite  relations,  so 
like,  so  unlike  ;  many,  yet  one.  I  would  study, 
I  would  know,  I  would  admire  forever.  These 
works  of  thought  have  been  the  entertainments 
of  the  human  spirit  in  all  ages. 

A  more  secret,  sweet,  and  overpowering  beauty 


ADDRESS.  117 

appears  to  man  when  his  heart  and  mind  open 
to  the  sentiment  of  virtue.  Then  he  is  instructed 
in  what  is  above  him.  He  learns  that  his  being 
is  without  bound ;  that,  to  the  good,  to  the  per 
fect,  he  is  born,  low  as  he  now  lies  in  evil  and 
weakness.  That  which  he  venerates  is  still  his 
own,  though  he  has  not  realized  it  yet.  He 
ought.  He  knows  the  sense  of  that  grand  word, 
though  his  analysis  fails  to  render  account  of  it. 
When  in  innocency,  or  when  by  intellectual  per 
ception,  he  attains  to  say,  — {  I  love  the  Right ; 
Truth  is  beautiful  within  and  without  forever- 
more.  Virtue,  I  am  thine  :  save  me :  use  me : 
thee  will  I  serve,  day  and  night,  in  great,  in  small, 
that  I  may  be  not  virtuous,  but  virtue ; '  —  then 
is  the  end  of  the  creation  answered,  and  God  is 
well  pleased. 

The  sentiment  of  virtue  is  a  reverence  and 
delight  in  the  presence  of  certain  divine  laws. 
It  perceives  that  this  homely  game  of  life  we 
play,  covers,  under  what  seem  foolish  details, 
principles  that  astonish.  The  child  amidst  his 
baubles,  is  learning  the  action  of  light,  motion, 
gravity,  muscular  force ;  and  in  the  game  of 
human  life,  love,  fear,  justice,  appetite,  man, 
and  God,  interact.  These  laws  refuse  to  be 
adequately  stated.^  They  will  not  be  written 
out  on  paper,  or  spoken  by  the  tongue.  They 


118  ADDRESS. 

elude  our  persevering  thought ;  yet  we  read  them 
hourly  in  each  other's  faces,  in  each  other's 
actions,  in  our  own  remorse.  The  moral  traits 
which  are  all  globed  into  every  virtuous  act  and 
thought,  —  in  speech,  we  must  sever,  and  describe 
or  suggest  by  painful  enumeration  of  many  par 
ticulars.  Yet,  as  this  sentiment  is  the  essence 
of  all  religion,  let  me  guide  your  eye  to  the  pre 
cise  objects  of  the  sentiment,  by  an  enumeration 
of  some  of  those  classes  of  facts  in  which  this 
element  is  conspicuous. 

The  intuition  of  the  moral  sentiment  is  an 
insight  of  the  perfection  of  the  laws  of  the  soul. 
These  laws  execute  themselves.  They  are  out 
of  time,  out  of  space,  and  not  subject  to  circum 
stance.  Thus ;  in  the  soul  of  man  there  is  a 
justice  whose  retributions  are  instant  and  entire. 
He  who  does  a  good  deed,  is  instantly  ennobled. 
He  who  does  a  mean  deed,  is  by  the  action  itself 
contracted.  He  who  puts  off  impurity,  thereby 
puts  on  purity.  If  a  man  is  at  heart  just,  then  in 
so  far  is  he  God  ;  the  safety  of  God,  the  immortal 
ity  of  God,  the  majesty  of  God  do  enter  into  that 
man  with  justice.  If  a  man  dissemble,  deceive, 
he  deceives  himself,  and  goes  out  of  acquaint 
ance  with  his  own  being.  A  man  in  the  view  of 
absolute  goodness,  adores,  with  total  humanity. 
Every  step  so  downward,  is  a  step  upward. 


ADDRESS.  119 

The  man  who  renounces  himself,  comes  to  him 
self. 

See  how  this  rapid  intrinsic  energy  worketh 
everywhere,  righting  wrongs,  correcting  appear 
ances,  and  bringing  up  facts  to  a  harmony  with 
thoughts.  Its  operation  in  life,  though  slow  to 
the  senses,  is,  at  last,  as  sure  as  in  the  soul.  By 
it,  a  man  is  made  the  Providence  to  himself,  dis 
pensing  good  to  his  goodness,  and  evil  to  his 
sin.  Character  is  always  known.  Thefts  never 
enrich ;  alms  never  impoverish ;  murder  will 
speak  out  of  stone  walls.  The  least  admixture 
of  a  lie,  —  for  example,  the  taint  of  vanity, 
any  attempt  to  make  a  good  impression,  a  favor 
able  appearance,  —  will  instantly  vitiate  the  ef 
fect.  Bat  speak  the  truth,  and  all  nature  and 
all  spirits  help  you  with  unexpected  furtherance. 
Speak  the  truth,  and  all  things  alive  or  brute 
are  vouchers,  and  the  very  roots  of  the  grass 
underground  there,  do  seem  to  stir  and  move  ' 
to  bear  you  witness.  See  again  the  perfection 
of  the  Law  as  it  applies  itself  to  the  affections, 
and  becomes  the  law  of  society.  As  we  are, 
so  we  associate.  The  good,  by  affinity,  seek 
the  good ;  the  vile,  by  affinity,  the  vile.  Thus 
of  their  own  volition,  souls  proceed  into  heaven, 
into  hell. 

These  facts  have  always  suggested  to  man  the 


120  ADDRESS. 

sublime  creed,  that  the  world  is  not  the  product 
of  manifold  power,  but  of  one  will,  of  one  mind ; 
and  that  one  mind  is  everywhere  active,  in  each 
ray  of  the  star,  in  each  wavelet  of  the  pool ;  and 
whatever  opposes  that  will,  is  everywhere  balked 
and  baffled,  because  things  are  made  so,  and  not 
otherwise.  Good  is  positive.  Evil  is  merely 
privative,  not  absolute :  it  is  like  cold,  which  is 
the  privation  of  heat.  All  evil  is  so  much  death 
or  nonentity.  Benevolence  is  absolute  and  real. 
So  much  benevolence  as  a  man  hath,  so  much 
life  hath  he.  For  all  things  proceed  out  of  this 
same  spirit,  which  is  differently  named  love, 
justice,  temperance,  in  its  different  applications, 
just  as  the  ocean  receives  different  names  on  the 
several  shores  which  it  washes.  All  things  pro 
ceed  out  of  the  same  spirit,  and  all  things  con 
spire  with  it.  Whilst  a  man  seeks  good  ends, 
he  is  strong  by  the  whole  strength  of  nature.  In 
so  far  as  he  roves  from  these  ends,  he  bereaves 
himself  of  power,  or  auxiliaries ;  his  being  shrinks 
out  of  all  remote  channels,  he  becomes  less  and 
less,  a  mote,  a  point,  until  absolute  badness  is 
absolute  death. 

The  perception  of  this  law  of  laws  awakens 
in  the  mind  a  sentiment  which  we  call  the  relig 
ious  sentiment,  and  which  makes  our  highest 
happiness.  Wonderful  is  its  power  to  charm  and 


ADDRESS.  121 

to  command.  It  is  a  mountain  air.  It  is  the 
embalmer  of  the  world.  It  is  myrrh  and  storax, 
and  chlorine  and  rosemary.  It  makes  the  sky 
and  the  hills  sublime,  and  the  silent  song  of  the 
stars  is  it.  By  it,  is  the  universe  made  safe  and 
habitable,  not  by  science  or  power.  Thought 
may  work  cold  and  intransitive  in  things,  and 
find  no  end  or  unity ;  but  the  dawn  of  the  sen 
timent  of  virtue  on  the  heart,  gives  and  is  the 
assurance  that  Law  is  sovereign  over  all  natures ; 
and  the  worlds,  time,  space,  eternity,  do  seem  to 
break  out  into  joy. 

This  sentiment  is  divine  and  deifying.  It  is 
the  beatitude  of  man.  It  makes  him  illimitable. 
Through  it,  the  soul  first  knows  itself.  It  cor 
rects  the  capital  mistake  of  the  infant  man,  who 
seeks  to  be  great  by  following  the  great,  and 
hopes  to  derive  advantages  from  another,  —  by 
showing  the  fountain  of  all  good  to  be  in  him 
self,  and  that  he,  equally  with  every  man,  is 
an  inlet  into  the  deeps  of  Reason.  When  he 
says,  "  I  ought ;  "  when  love  warms  him  ;  when 
he  chooses,  warned  from  on  high,  the  good 
and  great  deed;  then,  deep  melodies  wander 
through  his  soul  from  Supreme  Wisdom. — 
Then  he  can  worship,  and  be  enlarged  by  his 
worship ;  for  he  can  never  go  behind  this 
sentiment.  In  the  sublimest  flights  of  the  soul, 
11 


122  ADDRESS. 

rectitude  is  never  surmounted,  love  is  never  out 
grown. 

This  sentiment  lies  at  the  foundation  of  soci 
ety,  and  successively  creates  all  forms  of  worship. 
The  principle  of  veneration  never  dies  out.  Man 
fallen  into  superstition,  into  sensuality,  is  never 
quite  without  the  visions  of  the  moral  senti 
ment.  In  like  manner,  all  the  expressions  of 
this  sentiment  are  sacred  and  permanent  in  pro 
portion  to  their  purity.  The  expressions  of  this 
sentiment  affect  us  more  than  all  other  compo 
sitions.  The  sentences  of  the  oldest  time,  which 
ejaculate  this  piety,  are  still  fresh  and  fragrant. 
This  thought  dwelled  always  deepest  in  the 
minds  of  men  in  the  devout  and  contemplative 
East ;  not  alone  in  Palestine,  where  it  reached 
its  purest  expression,  but  in  Egypt,  in  Persia,  in 
India,  in  China.  Europe  has  always  owed  to 
oriental  genius  its  divine  impulses.  What  these 
holy  bards  said,  all  sane  men  found  agreeable 
and  true.  And  the  unique  impression  of  Jesus 
upon  mankind,  whose  name  is  not  so  much  writ 
ten  as  ploughed  into  the  history  of  this  world,  is 
proof  of  the  subtle  virtue  of  this  infusion. 

Meantime,  whilst  the  doors  of  the  temple  stand 
open,  night  and  day,  before  every  man,  and  the 
oracles  of  this  truth  cease  never,  it  is  guarded  by 
one  stern  condition;  this,  namely  ;  it  is  an  in- 


ADDRESS.  123 

tuition.  It  cannot  be  received  at  second  hand. 
Truly  speaking,  it  is  not  instruction,  but  provo 
cation,  that  I  can  receive  from  another  soul. 
What  he  announces,  I  must  find  true  in  me,  or 
reject;  and  on  his  word,  or  as  his  second,  be 
he  who  he  may,  I  can  accept  nothing.  On  the 
contrary,  the  absence  of  this  primary  faith  is  the 
presence  of  degradation.  As  «is  the  flood  so  is 
the  ebb.  Let  this  faith  depart,  and  the  very 
words  it  spake,  -and  the  things  it  made,  become 
false  and  hurtful.  Then  falls  the  church,  the 
state,  art,  letters,  life.  The  doctrine  of  the 
divine  nature  being  forgotten,  a  sickness  infects 
and  dwarfs  the  constitution.  Once  man  was  all ; 
now  he  is  an  appendage,  a  nuisance.  And  be 
cause  the  indwelling  Supreme  Spirit  cannot 
wholly  be  got  rid  of,  the  doctrine  of  it  suffers 
this  perversion,  that  the  divine  nature  is  attribut 
ed  to  one  or  two  persons,  and  denied  to  all  the 
rest,  and  denied  with  fury.  The  doctrine  of 
inspiration  is  lost ;  the  base  doctrine  of  the  ma 
jority  of  voices,  usurps  the  place  of  the  doctrine 
of  the  soul.  Miracles,  prophecy,  poetry ;  the 
ideal  life,  the  holy  life,  exist  as  ancient  history 
merely;  they  are  not  in  the  belief,  nor  in  the 
aspiration  of  society  ;  but,  when  suggested,  seem 
ridiculous.  Life  is  comic  or  pitiful,  as  soon  as 
the  high  ends  of  being  fade  out  of  sight,  and 


124  ADDRESS. 

man  becomes  near-sighted,  and  can  only  attend 
to  what  addresses  the  senses. 

These  general  views,  which,  whilst  they  are 
general,  none  will  contest,  find  abundant  illus 
tration  in  the  history  of  religion,  and  especially 
in  the  history  of  the  Christian  church.  In  that, 
all  of  us  have  had  our  birth  and  nurture.  The 
truth  contained  in  that,  you,  my  young  friends, 
are  now  setting  forth  to  teach.  As  the  Cultus, 
or  established  worship  of  the  civilized  world,  it 
has  great  historical  interest  for  us.  Of  its  blessed 
words,  which  have  been  the  consolation  of  hu 
manity,  you  need  not  that  I  should  speak.  I 
shall  endeavor  to  discharge  my  duty  to  you,  on 
this  occasion,  by  pointing  out  two  errors  in  its 
administration,  which  daily  appear  more  gross 
from  the  point  of  view  we  have  just  now 
taken. 

Jesus  Christ  belonged  to  the  true  race  of 
prophets.  He  saw  with  open  eye  the  mystery 
of  the  soul,  Drawn  by  its  severe  harmony, 
ravished  with  its  beauty,  he  lived  in  it,  and  had 
his  being  there.  Alone  in  all  history,  he  esti 
mated  the  greatness  of  man.  One  man  was  true 
to  what  is  in  you  and  me.  He  saw  that  God 
incarnates  himself  in  man,  and  evermore  goes 
forth  anew  to  take  possession  of  his  world.  He 
said,  in  this  jubilee  of  sublime  emotion,  <  I  am 


ADDRESS.  125 

divine.  Through  me,  God  acts ;  through  me, 
speaks.  Would  you  see  God,  see  me ;  or,  see 
thee,  when  thou  also  thinkest  as  I  now  think.' 
But  what  a  distortion  did  his  doctrine  and  mem 
ory  suffer  in  the  same,  in. the  next,  and  the 
following  ages !  There  is  no  doctrine  of  the 
Reason  which  will  bear  to  be  taught  by  the 
Understanding.  The  understanding  caught  this 
high  chant  from  the  poet's  lips,  and  said,  in  the 
next  age,  <  This  was  Jehovah  come  down  out  of 
heaven.  I  will  kill  you,  if  you  say  he  was  a 
man.'  The  idioms  of  his  language,  and  the 
figures  of  his  rhetoric,  have  usurped  the  place  of 
his  truth;  and  churches  are  not  built  on  his 
principles,  but  on  his  tropes.  Christianity  be 
came  a  Mythus,  as  the  poetic  teaching  of  Greece 
and  of  Egypt,  before.  He  spoke  of  miracles; 
for  he  felt  that  man's  life  was  a  miracle,  and  all 
that  man  doth,  and  he  knew  that  this  daily 
miracle  shines,  as  the  character  ascends.  But 
the  word  Miracle,  as  pronounced  by  Christian 
churches,  gives  a  false  impression ;  it  is  Monster. 
It  is  not  one  with  the  blowing  clover  and  the 
falling  rain. 

He  felt  respect  for  Moses  and  the  prophets ; 
but  no  unfit  tenderness  at  postponing  their  ini 
tial  revelations,  to  the  hour  and  the  man  that 
now  is ;  to  the  eternal  revelation  in  the  heart. 
11* 


126  ADDRESS. 

Thus  was  he  a  true  man.  Having  seen  that  the 
law  in  us  is  commanding,  he  would  not  suffer  it 
to  be  commanded.  Boldly,  with  hand,  and  heart, 
and  life,  he  declared  it  was  God.  Thus  is  he, 
as  I  think,  the  only  soul  in  history  who  has  ap 
preciated  the  worth  of  man. 

1.  In  this  point  of  view  we  become  sensi 
ble  of  the  first  defect  of  historical  Christianity. 
Historical  Christianity  has  fallen  into  the  er 
ror  that  corrupts  all  attempts  to  communicate 
religion.  As  it  appears  to  us,  and  as  it  has 
appeared  for  ages,  it  is  not  the  doctrine  of  the 
soul,  but  an  exaggeration  of  the  personal,  the 
positive,  the  ritual.  It  has  dwelt,  it  dwells, 
with  noxioi^s  exaggeration  about  the  person  of 
Jesus.  The  soul  knows  no  persons.  It  invites 
every  man  to  expand  to  the  full  circle  of  the 
universe,  and  will  have  no  preferences  but  those 
of  spontaneous  love.  But  by  this  eastern  mon 
archy  of  a  Christianity,  which  indolence  and 
fear  have  built,  the  friend  of  man  is  made  the 
injurer  of  man.  The  manner  in  which  his 
name  is  surrounded  with  expressions,  which 
were  once  sallies  of  admiration  and  love,  but 
are  now  petrified  into  official  titles,  kills  all  gen 
erous  sympathy  and  liking.  All  who  hear  me, 
feel,  that  the  language  that  describes  Christ  to 
Europe  and  America,  is  not  the  style  of  friend- 


ADDRESS.  127 

ship  and  enthusiasm  to  a  good  and  noble  heart, 
but  is  appropriated  and  forrrtal,  —  paints  a  demi 
god  as  the  Orientals  or  the  Greeks  would  de 
scribe  Osiris  or  Apollo.  Accept  the  injurious 
impositions  of  our  early  catechetical  instruction, 
and  even  honesty  and  self-denial  were  but  splen 
did  sins,  if  they  did  not  wear  the  Christian 
name.  One  would  rather  be 

4  A  pagan,  suckled  in  a  creed  outworn,' 

than  to  be  defrauded  of  his  manly  right  in  com 
ing  into  nature,  and  finding  not  names  and 
places,  not  land  and  professions,  but  even  virtue 
and  truth  foreclosed  and  monopolized.  You 
shall  not  be  a  man  even.  You  shall  not  own 
the  world ;  you  shall  not  dare,  and  live  after  the 
infinite  Law  that  is  in  you,  and  in  company  with 
the  infinite  Beauty  which  heaven  and  earth  re-" 
fleet  to  you  in  all  lovely  forms ;  but  you  must 
subordinate  your  nature  to  Christ's  nature ;  you 
must  accept  our  interpretations ;  and  take  his 
portrait  as  the  vulgar  draw  it. 

That  is  always  best  which  gives  me  to  my 
self.  The  sublime  is  excited  in  me  by  the  great 
stoical  doctrine,  Obey  thyself.  That  which 
shows  God  in  me,  fortifies  me.  That  which 
shows  God  out  of  me,  makes  me  a  wart  and 
a  wen.  There  is  no  longer  a  necessary  reason 


128  ADDRESS. 

for  my  being.  Already  the  long  shadows  of 
untimely  oblivion  creep  over  me,  and  I  shall  de 
cease  forever. 

The  divine  bards  are  the  friends  of  my  virtue, 
of  my  intellect,  of  my  strength.  They  admon 
ish  me,  that  the  gleams  which  flash  across  my 
•  mind,  are  not  mine,  but  God's;  that  they  had 
the  like,  and  were  not  disobedient  to  the  heav 
enly  vision.  So  I  love  them.  Noble  provoca 
tions  go  out  from  them,  inviting  me  to  resist 
evil;  to  subdue  the  world;  and  to  Be.  And 
thus  by  his  holy  thoughts,  Jesus  serves  us,  and 
thus  only.  To  aim  to  convert  a  man  by  mira 
cles,  is  a  profanation  of  the  soul.  A  true  con 
version,  a  true  Christ,  is  now,  as  always,  to  be 
made,  by  the  reception  of  beautiful  sentiments. 
It  is  true  that  a  great  and  rich  soul,  like  his, 
falling  among  the  simple,  does  so  preponderate, 
that,  as  his  did,  it  names  the  world.  The  world 
seems  to  them  to  exist  for  him,  and  they  have 
not  yet  drunk  so  deeply  of  his  sense,  as  to  see 
that  only  by  coming  again  to  themselves,  or  to 
God  in  themselves,  can  they  grow  forevermore. 
It  is  a  low  benefit  to  give  me  something;  it  is  a 
high  benefit  to  enable  me  to  do  somewhat  of 
myself.  The  time  is  coming  when  all  men  will 
see,  that  the  gift  of  God  to  the  soul  is  not  a 
vaunting,  overpowering,  excluding  sanctity,  but 


ADDRESS.  129 

a  sweet,  natural  goodness,  a  goodness  like  thine 
and  mine,  and  that  so  invites  thine  and  mine  to 
be  and  to  grow. 

The  injustice  of  the  vulgar  tone  of  preaching 
is  not  less  flagrant  to  Jesus,  than  to  the  souls 
which  it  profanes.  The  preachers  do  not  see 
that  they  make  his  gospel  not  glad,  an*d  shear 
him  of  the  locks  of  beauty  and  the  attributes  of 
heaven.  When  I  see  a  majestic  Epaminondas, 
or  Washington ;  when  I  see  among  my  contem 
poraries,  a  true  orator,  an  upright  judge,  a  dear 
friend ;  when  I  vibrate  to  the  melody  and  fancy 
of  a  poem ;  I  see  beauty  that  is  to  be  desired. 
And  so  lovely,  and  with  yet  more  entire  consent 
of  my  human  being,  sounds  in  my  ear  the 
severe  music  of  the  bards  that  have  sung  of  the 
true  God  in  all  ages.  Now  do  not  degrade  the 
life  and  dialogues  of  Christ  out  of  the  circle  of 
this  charm,  by  insulation  and  peculiarity.  Let 
them  lie  as  they  befel,  alive  and  warm,  part  of 
human  life,  and  of  the  landscape,  and  of  the 
cheerful  day. 

2.  The  second  defect  of  the  traditionary  and 
limited  way  of  using  the  mind  of  Christ  is  a 
consequence  of  the  first ;  this,  namely ;  that  the 
Moral  Nature,  that  Law  of  laws,  whose  revela 
tions  introduce  greatness,  —  yea,  God  himself, 
into  the  open  soul,  is  not  explored  as  the  foun- 


130  ADDRESS. 

tain  of  the  established  teaching  in  society.  Men 
have  come  to  speak  of  the  revelation  as  some 
what  long  ago  given  and  done,  as  if  God  were 
dead.  The  injury  to  faith  throttles  the  preacher  ; 
and  the  goodliest  of  institutions  becomes  an  un 
certain  and  inarticulate  voice. 

It  is  Very  certain  that  it  is  the  effect  of  con 
versation  with  the  beauty  of  the  soul,  to  beget  a 
desire  and  need  to  impart  to  others  the  same 
knowledge  and  love.  If  utterance  is  denied,  the 
thought  lies  like  a  burden  on  the  man.  Always 
the  seer  is  a  sayer.  Somehow  his  dream  is  told : 
somehow  he  publishers  it  with  solemn  joy: 
sometimes  with  pencil  on  canvas ;  sometimes 
with  chisel  on  stone ;  sometimes  in  towers  and 
aisles  of  granite,  his  soul's  worship  is  builded; 
sometimes  in  anthems  of  indefinite  music ;  but 
clearest  and  most  permanent,  in  words. 

The  man  enamored  of  this  excellency,  be 
comes  its  priest  or  poet.  The  office  is  coeval 
with  the  world.  But  observe  the  condition,  the 
spiritual  limitation  of  the  office.  The  spirit  only 
can  teach.  Not  any  profane  man,  not  any  sen 
sual,  not  any  liar,  not  any  slave  can  teach,  but 
only  he  can  give,  who  has ;  he  only  can  create, 
who  is.  The  man  on  whom  the  soul  descends, 
through  whom  the  soul  speaks,  alone  can  teach. 
Courage,  piety,  love,  wisdom,  can  teach ;  and 


ADDRESS.  131 

every  man  can  open  his  door  to  these  angels, 
and  they  shall  bring  him  the  gift  of  tongues. 
But  the  man  who  aims  to  speak  as  books  enable, 
as  synods  use,  as  the  fashion  guides,  and  as  in 
terest  commands,  babbles.  Let  him  hush. 

To  this  holy  office,  you  propose  to  devote 
yourselves.  I  wish  you  may  feel  your  *call  in 
throbs  of  desire  and  hope.  The  office  is  the 
first  in  the  world.  It  is  of  that  reality,  that  it 
cannot  suffer  the  deduction  of  any  falsehood. 
And  it  is  my  duty  to  say  to  you,  that  the  need 
was  never  greater  of  new  revelation  than  now. 
From  the  views  I  have  already  expressed,  you 
will  infer  the  sad  conviction,  which  I  share,  I 
believe,  with  numbers,  of  the  universal  decay 
and  now  almost  death  of  faith  in  society.  The 
soul  is  not  preached.  The  Church  seems  to 
totter  to  its  fall,  almost  all  life  extinct.  On  this 
occasion,  any  complaisance  would  be  criminal, 
which  told  you,  whose  hope  and  commission  it 
is  to  preach  the  faith  of  Christ,  that  the  faith  of 
Christ  is  preached. 

It  is  time  that  this  ill-suppressed  murmur  of 
all  thoughtful  men  against  the  famine  of  our 
churches ;  this  moaning  of  the  heart  because  it 
is  bereaved  of  the  consolation,  the  hope,  the 
grandeur,  that  come  alone  out  of  .the  culture  of 
the  moral  nature  ;  should  be  heard  through  the 


132  ADDRESS. 

sleep  of  indolence,  and  over  the  din  of  routine. 
This  great  and  perpetual  office  of  the  preacher 
is  not  discharged.  Preaching  is  the  expression 
of  the  moral  sentiment  in  application  to  the 
duties  of  life.  In  how  many  churches,  by  how 
many  prophets,  tell  me,  is  man  made  sensible 
that  he  is  an  infinite  Soul ;  that  the  earth  and 
heavens  are  passing  into  his*  mind ;  that  he  is 
drinking  forever  the  soul  of  God  ?  Where  now 
sounds  the  persuasion,  that  by  its  very  melody 
imparadises  my  heart,  and  so  affirms  its  own 
origin  in  heaven  ?  Where  shall  I  hear  words 
such  as  in  elder  ages  drew  men  to  leave  all  and 
follow,  —  father  and  mother,  house  and  land, 
wife  and  child  ?  Where  shall  I  hear  these  august 
laws  of  moral  being  so  pronounced,  as  to  fill  my 
ear,  and  I  feel  ennobled  by  the  offer  of  my  utter 
most  action  and  passion  ?  .  The  test  of  the  true 
faith,  certainly,  should  be  its  power  to  charm 
and  command  the  soul,  as  the  laws  of  nature 
control  the  activity  of  the  hands,  —  so  com 
manding  that  we  find  pleasure  and  honor  in 
obeying.  The,  faith  should  blend  with  the 
light  of  rising  and  of  setting  suns,  with  the  fly 
ing  cloud,  the  singing  bird,  and  the  breath  of 
flowers.  But  now  the  priest's  Sabbath  has  lost 
the  splendor  of  nature ;  it  is  unlovely ;  we  are 
glad  when  it  is  done ;  we  can  make,  we  do 


ADDRESS.  133 

make,   even  sitting  in  our   pews,  a  far  better, 
holier,  sweeter,  for  ourselves. 

Whenever  the  pulpit  is  usurped  by  a  formalist, 
then  is  the  worshipper  defrauded  and  disconso 
late.  We  shrink  as  soon  as  the  prayers  begin, 
which  do  not  uplift,  but  smite  and  offend  us. 
We  are  fain  to  wrap  our  cloaks  about  us,  and 
secure,  as  best  we  can,  a  solitude  that  hears  not. 
I  once 'heard  a  preacher  who  sorely  tempted  me 
to  say,  I  would  go  to  church  no  more.  Men  go, 
thought  I,  where  they  are  wont  to  go,  else  had 
no  soul  entered  the  temple  in  the  afternoon.  A 
snow-storm  was  falling  around  us.  The  snow 
storm  was  real ;  the  preacher  merely  spectral ; 
and  the  eye  felt  the  sad  contrast  in  looking  at 
him,  and  then  out  of  the  window  behind  him, 
into  the  beautiful  meteor  of  the  snow.  He  had 
lived  in  vain.  He  had  no  one  word  intimating 
that  he  had  laughed  or  wept,  was  married  or  in 
love,  had  been  commended,  or  cheated,  or  cha 
grined.  If  he  had  ever  lived  and  acted,  we 
were  none  the  wiser  for  it.  The  capital  secret 
of  his  profession,  namely,  to  convert  life  into 
truth,  he  had  not  learned.  Not  one  fact  in  all 
his  experience,  had  he  yet  imported  into  his  doc 
trine.  This  man  had  ploughed,  and  planted,  and 
talked,  and  bought,  and  sold  ;  he  had  read  books ; 
he  had  eaten  and  drunken ;  his  head  aches ; 
12 


184  ADDRESS. 

his  heart  throbs  ;  he  smiles  and  suffers  ;  yet  was 
there  not  a  surmise,  a  hint,  in  all  the  discourse, 
that  he  had  ever  lived  at  all.  Not  a  line  did  he 
draw  out  of  real  history.  The  true  preacher 
can  be  known  by  this,  that  he  deals  out  to  the 
people  his  life, — life  passed  through  the  fire  of 
thought.  But  of  the  bad  preacher,  it  could  not 
be  told  from  his  sermon,  what  age  of  the  world 
he  fell  in ;  whether  he  had  a  father  or  a,  child ; 
whether  he  was  a  freeholder  or  a  pauper ; 
whether  he  was  a  citizen  or  a  countryman ;  or 
any  other  fact  of  his  biography.  It  seemed 
strange  that  the  people  should  come  to  church. 
It  seemed  as  if  their  houses  were  very  unenter- 
taining,  that  they  should  prefer  this  thoughtless 
clamor.  It  shows  that  there  is  a  commanding 
attraction  in  the  moral  sentiment,  that  can  lend 
a  faint  tint  of  light  to  dulness  and  ignorance, 
coming  in  its  name  and  place.  The  good  hearer 
is  sure  he  has  been  touched  sometimes  ;  is  sure 
there  is  somewhat  to  be  reached,  and  some  word 
that  can  reach  it.  When  he  listens  to  these  vain 
words,  he  comforts  himself  by  their  relation  to 
his  remembrance  of  better  hours,  and  so  they 
clatter  and  echo  unchallenged. 

I  am  not  ignorant  that  when  we  preach  un 
worthily,  it  is  not  always  quite  in  vain.  There 
is  a  good  ear,  in  some  men,  that  draws  supplies 


ADDRESS.  .          135 

to  virtue  out  of  very  indifferent  nutriment. 
There  is  poetic  truth  concealed  in  -  all  the  com 
mon-places  of  prayer  and  of  sermons,  and  though 
foolishly  spoken,  they  may  be  wisely  heard  ;  for, 
.  each  is  some  select  expression  that  broke  out  in 
a  moment  of  piety  from  some  stricken  or  jubi 
lant  soul,  and  its  excellency  made  it  remembered. 
The  prayers  and  even  the  dogmas  of  our  church, 
are  like  the  zodiac  of  Denderah,  and  the  astro 
nomical  monuments  of  the  Hindoos,  wholly  insu 
lated  from  anything  now  extant  in  the  life  and 
business  of  the  people.  They  mark  the  height 
to  which  the  waters  once  rose.  But  this  docility 
is  a  check  upon  the  mischief  from  the  good  and 
devout.  In  a  large  portion  of  the  community, 
the  religious  service  gives  rise  to  quite  other 
thoughts  and  emotions.  We  need  not  chide  the 
negligent  servant.  We  are  struck  with  pity, 
rather,  at  the  swift  retribution  of  his  sloth. , 
Alas  for  the  unhappy  man  that  is  called  to  stand 
in  the  pulpit,  and  not  give  bread  of  life.  Every 
thing  that  befalls,  accuses  him.  Would  he  ask 
contributions  for  the  missions,  foreign  or  domes 
tic  ?  Instantly  his  face  is  suffused  with  shame, 
to  propose  to  his  parish,  that  they  should  send 
money  a  hundred  or  a  thousand  miles,  to  furnish 
such  poor  fare  as  they  have  at  home,  and  would 
do  well  to  go  the  hundred  or  the  thousand  miles 


136  ADDRESS. 

to  Escape.  "Would  he  urge  people  to  a  godly  way 
of  living;  —  and  can  he  ask  a  fellow-creature  to 
come  to  Sabbath  meetings,  when  he  and  they 
all  know  what  is  the  poor  uttermost  they  can 
hope  for  therein  ?  Will  he  invite  them  privately 
to  the  Lord's  Supper  ?  He  dares  not.  If  no 
heart  warm  this  rite,  the  hollow,  dry,  creaking 
formality  is  too  plain,  than  that  he  can  face  a 
man  of  wit  and  energy,  and  put  the  invitation 
without  terror. .  In  the  street,  what  has  he  to 
say  to  the  bold  village  blasphemer  ?  The  vil 
lage  blasphemer  sees  fear  in  the  face,  form,  and 
gait  of  the  minister. 

Let  me  not  taint  the  sincerity  of  this  plea  by 
any  oversight  of  the  claims  of  good  men.  I 
know  and  honor  the  purity  and  strict  conscience 
of  numbers  of  the  clergy.  What  life  the  public 
worship  retains,  it  owes  to  the  scattered  com 
pany  of  pious  men,  who  minister  here  and  there 
in  the  churches,  and  who,  sometimes  accepting 
with  too  great  tenderness  the  tenet  of  the  elders, 
have  not  accepted  from  others,  but  from  their 
own  heart,  the  genuine  impulses  of  virtue,  and 
so  still  command  our  love  and  awe,  to  the  sanc 
tity  of  character.  Moreover,  the  exceptions  are 
not  so  much  to  be  found  in  a  few  eminent 
preachers,  as  in  the  better  hours,  the  truer  inspi 
rations  of  all,  —  nay,  in  the  sincere  moments  of 


ADDRESS.  137 

every  man.  But  with  whatever  exception,  it  is 
still  true,  that  tradition  characterizes  the  preach 
ing  of  this  country ;  that  it  comes  out  of  the 
memory,  and  not  out  of  the  soul ;  that  it  aims  at 
what  is  usual,  and  not  at  what  is  necessary  and 
eternal ;  that  thus,  historical  Christianity  destroys 
the  power  of  preaching,  by  withdrawing  it  from 
the  exploration  of  the  moral  nature  of  man, 
where  the  sublime  is,  where  are  the  resources  of 
astonishment  and  power.  What  a  cruel  injus 
tice  it  is  to  that  Law,  the  joy  of  the  whole 
earth,  which  alone  can  make  thought  dear  and 
rich ;  that  Law  whose  fatal  sureness  the  astro 
nomical  orbits  poorly  emulate,  that  it  is  traves 
tied  and  depreciated,  that  it  is  behooted  and 
be  howled,  and  not  a  trait,  not  a  word  of  it 
articulated.  The  pulpit  in  losing  sight  of  this 
Law,  loses  its  reason,  and  grop'es  after  it  knows 
not  what.  And  for  want  of  this  -culture,  the 
soul  of  the  community  is  sick  and  faithless.  It 
wants  nothing  so  much  as  a  stern',  high,  stoical, 
Christian  discipline,  to  make  it  know  itself  and 
the  divinity  that  speaks  through  it.  Now  man 
is  ashamed  of  himself;  he  skulks  and  sneaks 
through  the  world,  to  be  tolerated,  to  be  pitied, 
and  scarcely  in  a  thousand  years  does  any  man 
dare  to  be  wise  and  good,  and  so  draw  after  him 
the  tears  and  blessings  of  his  kind. 
12* 


138  ADDRESS. 

Certainly  there  have  been  periods  when,  from 
the  inactivity  of  the  intellect  on  certain  truths, 
a  greater  faith  was  possible  in  names  and  per 
sons.  The  Puritans  in  England  and  America, 
found  in  the  Christ  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and 
in  the  dogmas  inherited  from  Rome,  scope  for 
their  austere  piety,  and  their  longings  for  civil 
freedom.  But  their  creed  is  passing  away,  and 
none  arises  in  its  room.  I  think  no  man  can  go 
with  his  thoughts  about  him,  into  one  of  our 
churches,  without  feeling,  that  what  hold  the 
public  worship  had  on  men  is  gone,  or  going. 
It  has  lost  its  grasp  on  the  affection  of  the 
good,  and  the  fear  of  the  bad.  In  the  country, 
neighborhoods,  half  parishes  are  signing'  off, 
to  use  the  local  term.  It  is  already  beginning  to 
indicate  character  and  religion  to  withdraw  from 
the  religious  meetings.  I  have  heard  a  devout 
person,  who  prized  the  Sabbath,  say  in  bitter 
ness  of  heart,  "  On  Sundays,  it  seems  wicked  to 
go  to  church."  And  the  motive,  that  holds  the 
best  there,  is  now  only  a  hope  and  a  waiting. 
What  was  once  a  mere  circumstance,  that  the 
best  and  the  worst  men  in  the  parish,  the  poor 
and  the  rich,  the  learned  and  the  ignorant  young 
and  old,  should  meet  one  day  as  fellows  in  one 
house,  in  sign  of  an  equal  right  in  the  soul, 
has  come  to  be  a  paramount  motive  for  going 
thither. 


ADDRESS.  139 

My  friends,  in  these  two  errors,  I  think,  I  find 
the  causes  of  a  decaying  church  and  a  wasting 
unbelief.  And  what  greater  calamity  can  fall 
upon  a  nation,  than  the  loss  of  worship  ?  Then 
all  things  go  to  decay.  Genius  leaves  the  tem 
ple,  to  haunt  the  senate,  or  the  market.  Litera 
ture  becomes  frivolous.  Science  is*cold.  The 
eye  of  youth  is  not  lighted  by  the  hope  of  other 
worlds,  and  age  is  without  honor.  Society  lives 
to  trifles,  and  when  men  die,  we  do  not  mention 
them. 

And  now,  my  brothers,  you  will  ask,  What  in 
these  desponding  days  can  be  done  by  us  ?  The 
remedy  is  already  declared  in  the  ground  of  our 
complaint  of  the  Church.  We  have  contrasted 
the  Church  with  the  Soul.  In  the  soul,  then, 
let  the  redemption  be  sought.  Wherever  a  man 
comes,  there  co'mes  revolution.  The  old  is  for 
slaves.  When  a  man  comes,  all  books  are  legi 
ble,  all  things  transparent,  all  religions  are  forms. 
He  is  religious.  Man  is  the  wonderworker.  He 
is  seen  amid  miracles.  All  men  bless  and  curse. 
He  saith  yea  and  nay,  only.  The  stationariness 
of  religion ;  the  assumption  that  the  age  of  in 
spiration  is  past,  that  the  Bible  is  closed ;  the 
fear  of  degrading  the  character  of  Jesus  by  rep 
resenting  him  as  a  man  ;  indicate  with  sufficient 
clearness  the  falsehood  of  our  theology.  It  is 


140  ADDRESS. 

the  office  of  a  true  teacher  to  show  us  that  God 
is,  not  was  ;  that  He  speaketh,  not  spake.  The 
true  Christianity,  —  a  faith  like  Christ's  in  the 
infinitude  of  man,  —  is  lost.  None  believeth  in 
the  soul  of  man,  but  only  in  some  man  or  person 
old  and  departed.  Ah  me  !  no  man  goeth  alone. 
All  men  go'  in  flocks  to  this  saint  or  that  poet, 
avoiding  the  God  who  seeth  in  secret.  They 
cannot  see  in  secret;  they  love  to  be  blind  in 
public.  They  think  society  wiser  than  their 
soul,  and  know  not  that  one  soul,  and  their  soul, 
is  wiser  than  the  whole  world.  See  how  nations 
and  races  flit  by  on  the  sea  of  time,  and  leave  no 
ripple  to  tell  where  they  floated  or  sunk,  and  one 
good  soul  shall  make  the  name  of  Moses,  or  of 
Zeno,  or  of  Zoroaster,  reverend  forever.  None 
assayeth  the  stern  ambition  to  be  the  Self  of 
the  nation,  and  of  nature,  but  each  would  be  an 
easy  secondary  to  some  Christian  scheme,  or 
sectarian  connection,  or  some  eminent  man. 
Once  leave  your  own  knowledge  of  God,  your 
own  sentiment,  and  take  secondary  knowledge, 
as  St.  Paul's,  or -George  Fox's,  or  Swedenborg's, 
and  you  get  wide  from  God  with  every  year  this 
secondary  form  lasts,  and  if,  as  now,  for -centu 
ries, —  the  chasm  yawns  to  that  breath,  that 
men  can  scarcely  be  convinced  there  is  in  them 
anything  divine. 


ADDRESS.  141 

Let  me  admonish  you,  first  of  all,  to  go  alone  ; 
to  refuse  the  good  models,  even  those  which  are 
sacred  in  the  imagination  of  men,  and  dare  to  love 
God  without  mediator  or  veil.  Friends  enough 
you  shall  find  who  will  hold  up  to  your  emula 
tion  Wesleys  and  Oberlins,  Saints  and  Prophets. 
Thank  God  for  these  good  men,  but  say,  '  I 
also  am  a  man.'  Imitation  cannot  go  above  its 
mocjel.  The  imitator  dooms  himself  to  hope 
less  mediocrity.  The  inventor  did  it,  because  it 
was  natural  to  him,  and  so  in  him  it  has  a  charm. 
In  the  imitator,  something  else  is  natural,  and  he 
bereaves  himself  of  his  own  beauty,  to  come 
short  of  another  man's. 

Yourself  a  newborn  bard  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
—  cast  behind  you  all  conformity,  and  acquaint 
men  at  first  hand  with  Deity.  Look  to  it  first 
and  only,  that  fashion,  custom,  authority,  pleas 
ure,  and  money,  are  nothing  to  you, —  are  not 
bandages  over  your  eyes,  that  you  cannot  see,  — 
but  live  with  the  privilege  of  the  immeasurable 
mind.  Not  too  anxious  to  visit  periodically  all 
families  and  each  family  in  your  parish  con 
nection,  —  when  you  meet  one  of  these  men  or 
women,  be  to  them  a  divine  man ;  be  to  them 
thought  and  virtue ;  let  their  timid  aspirations 
find  in  you  a  friend  ;  let  their  trampled  instincts 
be  genially  tempted  out  in  your  atmosphere  ;  let 


142  ADDRESS. 

their  doubts  know  that  you  have  doubted,  and 
their  wonder  feel  that  you  have  wondered.  By 
trusting  your  own  heart,  you  shall  gain  more 
confidence  in  other  men.  For  all  our  penny- 
wisdom,  for  all  our  soul-destroying  slavery  to 
habit,  it  is  not  to  be  doubted,  that  all  men  have 
sublime  thoughts  ;  that  all  men  value  the  few 
real  hours  of  life  ;  they  love  to  be  heard ;  they 
love  to  be  caught  up  into  the  vision  of  prin 
ciples.  We  mark  with  light  in  the  memory  the 
few  interviews  we  have  had,  in  the  dreary  years 
of  routine  and  of  sin,  with  souls  that  made  our 
souls  wiser;  that  spoke  what  we  thought;  that 
told  us  what  we  knew ;  that  gave  us  leave  to 
be  what  we  inly  were.  Discharge  to  men  the 
priestly  office,  and,  present  or  absent,  you  shall 
be  followed  with  their  love  as  by  an  angel. 

And,  to  this  end,  let  us  not  aim  at  common 
degrees  of  merit.  Can  we  not  leave,  to  such  as 
love  it,  the  virtue  that  glitters  for  the  commen 
dation  of  society,  and  ourselves  pierce  the  deep 
solitudes  of  absolute  ability  and  worth?  We 
easily  come  up  to  the  standard  of  goodness  in 
society.  Society's  praise  can  be  cheaply  secured, 
and  almost  all  men  are  content  with  those  easy 
merits  ;  but  the  instant  effect  of  conversing  with 
God,  wiy.  be,  to  put  them  away.  There  are  per 
sons  who  are  not  actors,  not  speakers,  but  inilu- 


ADDRESS.  143 

ences ;  persons  too  great  for  fame,  for  display  ; 
who  disdain  eloquence  ;  to  whom  all  we  call  art 
and  artist,  seems  too  nearly  allied  to  show  and 
by-ends,  to  the  exaggeration  of  the  finite  and 
selfish,  and  loss  of  the  universal.  The  orators, 
the  poets,  the  commanders  encroach  on  us  only 
as  fair  women  do,  by  our  allowance  and  homage. 
Slight  them  by  preoccupation  of  mind,  slight 
them,  as  you  can  well  afford  to  do,  by  high  and 
universal  aims,  and  they  instantly  feel  that  you 
have  right,  and  that  it  is  in  lower  places  that 
they  must  shine.  They  also  feel  your  right; 
for  they  with  you  are  open  to  the  influx  of  the 
all-knowing  Spirit,  which  annihilates  before  its 
broad  noon  the  little  shades  and  gradations  of 
intelligence  in  the  compositions  we  call  wiser 
and  wisest. 

In  such  high  communion,  let  us  study  the 
grand  strokes  of  rectitude :  a  bold  benevolence, 
an  independence  of  friends,  so  that  not  the  unjust 
wishes  of  those  who  love  us,  shall  impair  our 
freedom,  but  we  shall  resist  for  truth's  sake  the 
freest  flow  of  kindness,  and  appeal  to  sympathies 
far  in  advance ;  and,  —  what  is  the  highest  form 
in  which  we  know  this  beautiful  element,  —  a 
certain  solidity  of  merit,  that  has  nothing  to  do 
with  opinion,  and  which  is  so  essentially  and 
manifestly  virtue,  that  it  is  taken  for  granted, 


144  ADDRESS. 

that  the  right,  the  brave,  the  generous  step  will 
be  taken  by  it,  and  nobody  thinks  of  commending 
it.  You  would  compliment  a  coxcomb  doing  a 
good  act,  but  you  would  not  praise  an  angel. 
The  silence  that  accepts  merit  as  the  most  natu 
ral  thing  in  the  world,  is  the  highest  applause. 
Such  souls,  when  they  appear,  are  the  Imperial 
Guard  of  Virtue,  the  perpetual  reserve,  the  dic 
tators  of  fortune.  One  needs  not  praise  their 
courage, : —  they  are  the  heart  and  soul  of  nature. 
O  my  friends,  there  are  resources  in  us  on  which 
we  have  not  drawn.  There  are  men  who  rise 
refreshed  on  hearing  a  threat ;  men  to  whom  a 
crisis  which  intimidates  and  paralyzes  the  ma 
jority, —  demanding  not  the  faculties  of  prudence 
and  thrift,  but  comprehension,  immovableness, 
the  readiness  of  sacrifice,  —  comes  graceful  and 
beloved  as  a  bride.  Napoleon  said  to  Massena, 
that  he  was  not  himself  until  the  battle  began 
to  go  against  him ;  then,  when  the  dead  began 
to  fall  in  ranks  around  him,  awoke  his  powers  of 
combination,  and  he  put  on  terror  and  victory  as 
a  robe.  So  it  is  in  rugged  crises,  in  unweariable 
endurance,  and  in  aims  which  put  sympathy  out 
of  question,  that  the  angel  is  shown.  But  these 
are  heights  that  we  can  scarce  remember  and 
look  up  to,  without  contrition  and  shame.  Let 
us  thank  God  that  such  things  exist. . 


ADDRESS.  145 

X 

And  now  let  us  do  what  we  can  to  rekindle 
the  smouldering,  nigh  quenched  fire  on  the  altar. 
The  evils  of  the  church  that  now  is  are  mani 
fest.  The  question  returns,  What  shall  we  do  ? 
I  confess,  all  attempts  to  project  and  establish  a 
Cultus  with  new  rites  and  forms,  seem  to  me 
vain.  Faith  makes  us,  and  not  we  it,  and  faith 
makes  its  own  forms.  All  attempts  to  contrive 
a  system  are  as  cold  as  the  new  worship  intro 
duced  by  the  French  to  the  goddess  of  Reason,  — 
to-day,  pasteboard  and  fillagree,  and  ending  to 
morrow  in  madness  and  murder.  Rather  let  the 
breath  of  new  life  be  breathed  by  you  through 
the  forms  already  existing.  For,  if  once  you  are 
alive,  you  shall  find  they  shall  become  plastic 
and  new.  The  remedy  to  their  deformity  is, 
first,  soul,  and  second,  soul,  and  evermore,  soul. 
A  whole  popedom  of  forms,  one  pulsation  of 
virtue  .can  uplift  and  vivify.  Two  inestimable 
advantages  Christianity  has  given  us ;  first ;  the 
Sabbath,  the  jubilee  of  the  whole  world ;  whose 
light  dawns  welcome  alike  into  the  closet  of 
the  philosopher,  into  the'  garret  of  toil,  and 
into  prison-cells,  and  everywhere  suggests, 
even  to  the  vile,  the  dignity  of  spiritual  being. 
Let  us  stand  forevermore,  a  temple,  which 
new  love,  new  faith,  new  sight  shall  restore  to 
more  than  its  first  splendor  to  mankind.  And 
13 


146  ADDRESS. 

secondly,  the  institution  of  preaching,  —  the 
speech  of  man  to  men,  —  essentially  the  most 
flexible  of  all  organs,  of  all  forms.  What  hinders 
that  now,  everywhere,  in  pulpits,  in  lecture- 
rooms,  in  houses,  in  fields,  wherever  the  invi 
tation  of  men  or  your  own  occasions  lead  you, 
you  speak  the  very  truth,  as  your  life  and  con 
science  teach  it,  and  cheer  the  waiting,  fainting 
hearts  of  men  with  new  hope  and  new  revela 
tion? 

I  look  for  the  hour  when  that  supreme  Beauty, 
which  ravished  the  souls  of  those  eastern  men, 
and  chiefly  of  those  Hebrews,  and  through  their 
lips  spoke  oracles  to  all  time,  shall  speak  in  the 
West  also.  The  Hebrew  and  Greek  Scriptures 
contain  immortal  sentences,  that  have  been  bread 
of  life  to  millions.  But  they  have  no  epical  in 
tegrity  ;  are  fragmentary ;  are  not  shown  in  their 
order  to  the  intellect.  I  look  for  the  new 
Teacher,  that  shall  follow  so  far  those  shining  , 
laws,  that  he  shall  see  them  come  full  circle ; 
shall  see  their  rounding  complete  grace ;  shall 
see  the  world  to  be  the  mirror  of  the  soul ;  shall 
see  the  identity  of  the  law  of  gravitation  with 
purity  of  heart ;  and  shall  show  that  the  Ought, 
that  Duty,  is  one  thing  with  Science,  with 
Beauty,  and  with  Joy. 


LITERARY    ETHICS. 

AN   ORATION    DELIVERED    BEFORE    THE    LITERARY    SOCIETIES 
OF   DARTMOUTH    COLLEGE,   JULY   24,    1838. 


ORATION. 


GENTLEMEN, 

THE  invitation  to  address  you  this  day,  with 
which  you  have  honored  me,  was  a  call  so  wel 
come,  that  I  made  haste  to  obey  it.  A  summons 
to  celebrate  with  scholars  a  literary  festival,  is 
so  alluring  to  me,  as  to  overcome  the  doubts  I 
might  well  entertain  of  my  ability  to  bring  you 
any  thought  worthy  of  your  attention.  I  have 
reached  the  middle  age  of  man  ;  yet  I  believe  I 
am  not  less  glad  or  sanguine  at  the  meeting  of 
scholars,  than  when,  a  boy,  I  first  saw  the  grad 
uates  of  my  own  College  assembled  at  their 
anniversary.  Neither  years  nor  books  have  yet 
availed  to  extirpate  a  prejudice  then  rooted  in 
me,  that  a  scholar  is  the  favorite  of  Heaven  and 
earth,  the  excellency  of  his  country,  the  happiest 
of  men.  His  duties  lead  him  directly  into  the 
13* 


150  LITERARY   ETHICS. 

holy  ground  where  other  men's  aspirations  only 
point.  His  successes  are  occasions  of  the  purest 
joy  to  all  men.  Eyes  is  he  to  the  blind;  feet  is 
he  to  the  lame.  His  failures,  if  he  is  worthy,  are 
inlets  to  higher  advantages.  And  because  the 
scholar,  by  every  thought  he  thinks,  extends  his 
dominion  into  the  general  mind  of  men,  he  is 
not  one,  but  many.  The  few  scholars  in  each 
country,  whose  genius  I  know,  seem  to  me  not 
individuals, but  societies;  and,  when  events  occur 
of  great  import,  I  count  over  these  representatives 
of  opinion,  whom  they  will  affect,  as  if  I  were 
counting  nations.  And,  even  if  his  results  were 
incommunicable  ;  if  they  abode  in  his  own  spirit ; 
the  intellect  hath  somewhat  so  sacred  in  its  pos 
sessions,  that  the  fact  of  his  .existence  and  pur 
suits  would  be  a  happy  omen. 

Meantime  I  know  that  a  very  different  estimate 
of  the  scholar's  profession  prevails  in  this  country, 
and  the  importunity,  with  which  society  presses 
its  claim  upon  young  men,  tends  to  pervert  the 
views  of  the  youth  in  respect  to  the  culture  of 
the  intellect.  Hence  the  historical  failure,  on 
which  Europe  and  America  have  so  freely  com 
mented.  This  country  has  not  fulfilled  what 
seemed  the  reasonable  expectation  of  man 
kind.  Men  looked,  when  all  feudal  straps  and 
bandages  were  snapped  asunder,  that  nature,  too 


LITERARY   ETHICS.  151 

long  the  mother  of  dwarfs,  should  reimburse 
itself  by  a  brood  of  Titans,  who  should  laugh 
and  leap  in  the  continent,  and  run  up  the  moun 
tains  of  the  West  with  the  errand  of  genius  arid 
of  love.  But  the  mark  of  American  merit  in 
painting,  in  sculpture,  in  poetry,  in  fiction,  in 
eloquence,  seems  to  be  a  certain  grace  without 
grandeur,  and  itself  not  new  but  derivative ; 
a  vase  of  fair  outline,  but  empty,  — which  who 
so  sees,  may  fill  with  what  wit  and  character 
is  in  him,  but  which  does  not,  like  the  charged 
cloud,  overflow  with  terrible  beauty,  and  emit 
lightnings  on  all  beholders. 

I  will  not  lose  myself  in  the  desultory  ques 
tions,  what  are  the  limitations,  and  what  the 
causes  of  the  fact.  It  suffices  me  to  say,  in 
general,  that  the  diffidence  of  mankind  in  the 
soul  has  crept  over  the  American  mind;  that 
men  here,  as  elsewhere,  are  indisposed  to  inno 
vation,  and  prefer  any  antiquity,  any  usage,  any 
livery  productive  of  ease  or  profit,  to  the  unpro 
ductive  service  of  thought. 

Yet,  in  every  sane  hour,  the  service  of  thought 
appears  reasonable,  the  despotism  of  the  senses 
insane.  The  scholar  may  lose  himself  in  schools, 
in  words,  and  become  a  pedant ;  but  when  he 
comprehends  his  duties,  he  above  all  men  is  a 
realist,  and  converses  with  things.  For,  the 


152  LITERARY   ETHICS. 

scholar  is  the  student  of  the  world,  and  of  what 
worth  the  world  is,  and  with  what  emphasis  it 
accosts  the  soul  of  man,  such  is  the  worth,  such 
the  call  of  the  scholar. 

The  want  of  the  times,  and  the  propriety  of 
this  anniversary,  concur  to  draw  attention  to 
the  doctrine  of  Literary  Ethics.  What  I  have 
to  say  on  that  doctrine  distributes  itself  under 
the  topics  of  the  resources,  the  subject,  and  the 
discipline  of  the  scholar. 

I.  The  resources  of  the  scholar  are  propor 
tioned  to  his  confidence  in  the  attributes  of  the 
Intellect.  The  resources  of  the  scholar  are  co 
extensive  with  nature  and  truth,  yet  can  never 
be  his,  unless  claimed  by  him  with  an  equal 
greatness  of  mind.  He  cannot  know  them  until 
he  has  beheld  with  awe  the  infinitude  and  im 
personality  of  the  intellectual  power.  When  he 
has  seen,  that  it  is  not  his,  nor  any  man's,  but 
that  it  is  the  soul  which  made  the  world,  and 
that  it  is  all  accessible  to  him,  he  will  know  that 
he,  as  its  minister,  may  rightlfully  hold  all  things 
subordinate  and  answerable  to  it.  A  divine  pil 
grim  in  nature,  all  things  attend  his  steps.  Over 
him  stream  the  flying  constellations ;  over  him 
streams  Time,  as  they,  scarcely  divided  into 
months  and  years.  He  inhales  the  year  as  a 


LITERARY  ETHICS.  153 

vapor:  its  fragrant  midsummer  breath,  its  spark 
ing  January  heaven.  And  so  pass  into  his  mind, 
in  bright  transfiguration,  the  grand  events  of  his 
tory,  to  take  a  new  order  and  scale  from  him. 
He  is  the  world ;  and  the  epochs  and  heroes  of 
chronology  are  pictorial  images,  in  which  his 
thoughts  are  told.  There  is  no  event  but  sprung 
somewhere  from  the  soul  of  man  ;  and  therefore 
there  is  none  but  the  soul  of  man  can  interpret. 
Every  presentiment  of  the  mind  is  executed 
somewhere  in  a  gigantic  fact.  What  else  is 
Greece,  Rome,  England,  France,  St.  Helena? 
"What  else  are  churches,  literatures,  and  empires  ? 
The  new  man  must  feel  that  he  is  new,  and  has 
not  come  into  the  world  mortgaged  to  the  opin 
ions  and  usages  of  Europe,  and  Asia,  and  Egypt. 
The  sense  of  spiritual  independence  is  like  the 
lovely  varnish  of  the  dew,  whereby  the  old,  hard, 
peaked  e&rjh,  and  its  old  self-same  productions, 
are  made  new  every  morning,  and  shining  with 
the  last  touch  of  the  artist's  hand.  A  false  hu 
mility,  a  complaisance  to  reigning  schools,  or  to 
the  wisdom  of  antiquity,  must  not  defraud  me  of 
supreme  possession  of  this  hour.  If  any  person 
have  less  love  of  liberty,  and  less  jealousy  to 
guard  his  integrity,  shall  he  therefore  dictate  to 
you  and  me  ?  Say  to  such  doctors,  We  are 
thankful  to  you,  as  we  are  to  history,  to  the 


154  LITERARY  ETHICS. 

pyramids,  and  the  authors ;  but  now  our  day  is 
come ;  we  have  been  born  out  of  the  etern; 
silence ;  and  now  will  we  live,  —  live  for  our 
selves, —  and  not  as  the  pall-bearers  of  a  funeral, 
but  as  the  upholders  and  creators  of  our  age ; 
and  neither  Greece  nor  Rome,  nor  the  three 
Unities  of  Aristotle,  nor  the  three  Kings  of 
Cologne,  nor  the  College  of  the  Sorbonne,  nor 
the  Edinburgh  Review,  is  to  command  any 
longer.  Now  that  we  are  here,  we  will  put  our 
own  interpretation  on  things,  and  our  own  things 
for  interpretation.  Please  himself  with  com 
plaisance  who  will,  —  for  me,  things  must  take 
my  scale,  not  I  theirs.  I  will  say  with  the  war 
like  king,  "  God  gave  me  this  crown,  and  the 
whole  world  shall  not  take  it  away." 

The  whole  value  of  history,  of  biography,  is 
to  increase  my  self-trust,  by  demonstrating  what 
man  can  be  and  do.  This  is  the  moral  of  the 
Plutarchs,  the  -Cudworths,  the  Tennemanns,  who 
give  us  the  story  of  men  or  of  opinions.  Any 
history  of  philosophy  fortifies  my  faith,  by  show 
ing  me,  that  what  high  dogmas  I  had  supposed 
were  the  rare  and  late  fruit  of  a  cumulative 
culture,  and  only  now  possible  to  some  recent 
Kant  or  Fichte,  —  were  the  prompt  improvi 
sations  of  the  earliest  inquirers ;  of  Parmenides, 
Heraclitus,  and  Xenophanes.  In  view  of  these 


LITERARY    ETHICS.  155 

students,  the  soul  seems  to  whisper,  '  There 
is  a  •  better  way  than  this  indolent  learning  of 
another.  Leave  me  alone ;  do  not  teach  me  out 
of  Leibnitz  or  Schelling,  and  I  shah1  find  it  all 
out  myself.' 

Still  more  do  we  owe  to  biography  the  fortifi 
cation  of  our  hope.  If  you  would  know  the 
power  of  character,  see  how  much  you  would 
impoverish  the  world,  if  you  could  take  clean  out 
of  history  the  lives  of  Milton,  Shakspeare,  and 
Plato,  —  these  three,  and  cause  them  not  to  be. 
See  you  not,  how  much  less  the  power  of  man 
would  be  ?  I  console  myself  in  the  poverty  of 
my  thoughts ;  in  the  paucity  of  great  men,  in  the 
malignity  and  dulness  of  the  nations,  by  falling 
back  on  these  sublime  recollections,  and  seeing 
what  the  prolific  soul  could  beget  on  actual 
nature ;  —  seeing  that  Plato  was,  and  Shak 
speare,  and  Milton, — three  irrefragable  facts. 
Then  I  dare ;  I  also  will  essay  to  be.  The 
humblest,  the  most  hopeless,  in  view  of  these 
radiant  facts,  may  now  theorize  and  hope.  In 
spite  of  all  the  rueful  abortions  that  squeak  and 
gibber  in  the  street,  in  spite  of  slumber  and  guilt, 
in  spite  of  the  army,  the  bar-room,  and  the  jail, 
have  been  these  glorious  manifestations  of  the 
mind ;  and  I  win  thank  my  great  brothers  so 
truly  for  the  admonition  of  their  being,  as  to 


156  LITERARY   ETHICS. 

endeavor  also  to  be  just  and  brave,  to  aspire  and 
to  speak.  Plotinus  too,  and  Spinoza,  and  the  im 
mortal  bards  of  philosophy,  —  that  which  they 
have  written  out  with  patient  courage,  makes 
me  bold.  No  more  will  I  dismiss,  with  haste, 
the  visions  which  flash  and  sparkle  across  my 
sky ;  but  observe  them,  approach  them,  domes 
ticate  them,  brood  on  them,  and  draw  out  of  the 
past,  genuine  life  for  the  present  hour. 

To  feel  the  full  value  of  these  lives,  as  occa 
sions  of  hope  and  provocation,  you  must  come  to 
know,  that  each  admirable  genius  is  but  a  suc 
cessful  diver  in  that  sea  whose  floor  of  pearls  is 
all  your  own.  The  impoverishing  philosophy  of 
ages  has  laid  stress  on  the  distinctions  of  the 
individual,  and  not  on  the  universal  attributes  of 
man.  The  youth,  intoxicated  with  his  admira 
tion  of  a  hero,  fails  to  see,  that  it  is  only  a  pro 
jection  of  his  own  soul,  which  he  admires.  In 
solitude,  in  a  remote  village,  the  ardent  youth 
loiters  and  mourns.  With  inflamed  eye,  in  this 
sleeping  wilderness,  he  has  read  the  story  of  the 
Emperor  Charles  the  Fifth,  until  his  fancy  has 
brought  home  to  the  surrounding  woods,  the 
faint  roar  of  cannonades  in  the  Milanese,  and 
marches  in  Germany.  He  is  curious  concerning 
that  man's  day.  What"  filled  it?  the  crowded 
orders,  the  stern  decisions,  the  foreign  despatches, 


LITERARY   ETHICS.  157 

the  Castilian  etiquette?  The  soul  answers  — 
Behold  his  day  here !  In  the  sighing  of  these 
woods,  in  the  quiet  of  these  gray  fields,  in  the 
cool  bree^£  that  sings  out  of  these  northern 
mountains  ;  in-the  workmen,  the  boys,  the  maid 
ens,  you  meet,  —  in  the.  hopes  of  the  morning, 
the  ennui  of  noon,  and  sauntering  of  the  after 
noon  ;  in  the  disquieting  comparisons ;  in  the 
regrets  at  want  of  vigor;  in  the  great  idea, 
and  the  puny  execution;  —  behold  Charles  the 
Fifth's  day ;  another,  yet  the  same ;  behold 
Chatham's,  Hampden's,  Bayard's,  Alfred's,  Sci- 
pio's,  Pericles's  day,  —  day  of  all  that  are  born 
of  women.  The  difference  of  circumstance  is 
merely  costume.  I  am  tasting  the  self-same 
life,  —  its  sweetness,  its  greatness,  its  pain, 
which  I  so  admire  in  other  men.  Do  not  fool 
ishly  ask  of  the  inscrutable,  obliterated  past, 
what  it  cannot  tell,  —  the  details  of  that  nature, 
of  that  day,  called  Byron,  or  Burke  ;  — but  ask 
it  of  the  enveloping  Now;  the  more  quaintly 
you  inspect  its  evanescent  beauties,  its  wonderful 
details,  its  spiritual  causes,  its  astounding  whole, 
—  so  much  the  more  you  master  the  biography 
of  this  hero,  and  that,  and  every  hero.  Be  lord 
of  a  day,  through  wisdom  and  justice,  and  you 
can  put  up  your  history  books. 

An  intimation  of  these  broad  rights  is  familiar 
14 


158  LITERARY    ETHICS. 

in  the  sense  of  injury  which  men  feel  in  the 
assumption  of  any  man  to  limit  their  possible 
progress.  We  resent  all  criticism,  which  denies 
us  any  thing  that  lies  in  our  line  of  advance. 
Say  to  the  man  of  letters,  that  he  cannot  paint 
a  Transfiguration,  or  build  a  steamboat,  or  be  a 
grand-marshal, —  and  he  will  not  seem  to  him 
self  depreciated.  But  deny  to  him  any  quality 
of  literary  or  metaphysical  power,  and  he  is 
piqued*  Concede  to  him  genius,  which  is  a  sort 
of  Stoical  plenum  annulling  the  comparative, 
and  he  is  content ;  but  concede  him  talents 
never  so  rare,  denying  him  genius,  and  he  is 
aggrieved.  What  does  this  mean  ?  Why  sim 
ply,  that  the  soul  has  assurance,  by  instincts  and 
presentiments,  of  all  power  in  the  direction  of 
its  ray,  as  well  as  of  the  special  skills  it  has  al 
ready  acquired. 

In  order  to  a  knowledge  of  the  resources  of 
the  scholar,  we  must  not  rest  in  the  use  of  slen 
der  accomplishments,  —  of  faculties  to  do  this 
and  that  other  feat  with  words ;  but  we  must 
pay  our  vows  to  the  highest  power,  and  pass,  if 
•it  be  possible,  by  assiduous  love  and  watching, 
into  the  visions  of  absolute  truth.  The  growth 
of  the  intellect  is  strictly  analogous  in  all  indi 
viduals.  It  is  larger  reception.  Able  men,  in 
general,  have  good  dispositions,  and  a  respect  for 


LITERARY   ETHICS.  159 

justice ;  because  an  able  man  is  nothing  else  than 
a  good,  free,  vascular  organization,  whereinto  the 
universal  spirit  freely  flows  ;  so  that  his  fund  of 
justice  is  not  only  vast,  but  infinite.  All  men, 
in  the  abstract,  are  just  and  good ;  what  hinders 
them,  in  the  particular,  is,  the  momentary  pre 
dominance  of  the  finite  and  individual  over  the 
general  truth.  The  condition  of  our  incarnation 
in  a  private  self,  seems  to  be,  a  perpetual  ten 
dency  to  prefer  the  private  law,  to  obey  the  pri 
vate  impulse,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  law  of 
universal  being.  The  hero  is  great  by  means  of 
the  predominance  of  the  universal  nature ;  he 
has  only  to  open  his  mouth,  and  it  speaks ;  he 
has  only  to  be  forced  to  act,  and  it  acts.  All 
men  catch  the  word,  or  embrace  the  deed,  with 
the  heart,  for  it  is  verily  theirs  as  much  as  his ; 
but  in  them  this  disease  of  an  excess  of  organi 
zation  cheats  them  of  equal  issues.  Nothing  is 
more  simple  than  greatness ;  indeed,  to  be  sim 
ple  is  to  be  great.  The  vision  of  genius  comes 
by  renouncing  the  too  officious  activity  of  the 
understanding,  and  giving  leave  and  amplest 
privilege  to  the  spontaneous  sentiment.  Out  of 
this  must  all  that  is  alive  and  genial  in  thought 
go.  Men  grind  and  grind  in  the  mill  of  a  tru 
ism,  and  nothing  comes  out  but  what  was  put  in. 
But  the  moment  they  desert  the  tradition  for  a 


160  LITERARY   ETHICS. 

spontaneous  thought,  then  poetry,  wit,  hope, 
virtue,  learning,  anecdote,  all  flock  to  their  aid. 
Observe  the  phenomenon  of  extempore  debate. 
A  man  of  cultivated  rnind,  but  reserved  habits, 
sitting  silent,  admires  the  miracle  ^f  free,  im 
passioned,  picturesque  speech,  in  the  man  ad 
dressing  an  assembly ;  —  a  state  of  being  and 
power,  how  unlike  his  own  !  Presently  his  own 
emotion  rises  to  his  lips,  and  overflows  in  speech. 
He  must  also  rise  and  say  somewhat.  Once  em 
barked,  once  having  overcome  the  novelty  of  the 
situation,  he  finds  it  just  as  easy  and  natural  to 
speak,  —  to  speak  with  thoughts,  with  pictures, 
with  rhythmical  balance  of  sentences,  — --  as  it 
was  to  sit  silent ;  for,  it  needs  not  to  do,  but  to 
suffer ;  he  only  adjusts  himself  to  the  free  spirit 
which  gladly  utters  itself  through  him  ;  and  mo 
tion  is  as  easy  as  rest. 

II.  I  pass  now  to  consider  the  task  offered  to 
the  intellect  of  this  country.  The  view  I  have 
taken  of  the  resources  of  the  scholar,  presupposes 
a  subject  as  broad.  We  do  not  seem  to  have 
imagined  its  riches.  We  have  not  heeded  the 
invitation  it  holds  out.  To  be  as  good  a  scholar 
as  Englishmen  are  ;  to  have  as  much  learning  as 
our  contemporaries ;  to  have  written  a  book 
that  is  read ;  satisfies  us.  We  assume,  that  all 


LITERARY   ETHICS.  161 

thought  is  already  long  ago  adequately  set  down 
in  books,  —  all  imaginations  in  poems  ;  and  what 
we  say,  we  only  throw  in  as  confirmatory  of  this 
supposed  complete  body  of  literature.  A  very 
shallow  assumption.  Say  rather,  all  literature  is 
yet  to  be  written.  Poetry  has  scarce  chanted  its 
first  song.  The  perpetual  admonition  of  nature 
to  us,  is,  l  The  world  is  new,  untried.  Do  not 
believe  the  past.  I  give  you  the  universe  a  vir 
gin  to-day.' 

By  Latin  and  English  poetry,  we  were  born 
and  bred  in  an  oratorio  of  praises  of  nature,-  — 
flowers,  birds,  mountains,  sun,  and  moon ;  —  yet 
the  naturalist  of  this  hour  -finds  that  he  knows 
nothing,  by  all  their  poems,  of  any  of  these  fine 
things ;  that  he  has  conversed  with  the  mere 
surface  and  show  of  them  all ;  and  of  their  es 
sence,  or  of  their  history,  knowing  nothing.  Fur 
ther  inquiry  will  discover  that  nobody, — that 
not  these  chanting  poets  themselves,  knew  any 
thing  sincere  of  these  handsome  natures  they 
so  commended ;  that  they  contented  themselves 
with  the  passing  chirp  of  a  bird,  that  they  saw 
one  or  two  mornings,  and  listlessly  looked  at 
sunsets,  and  repeated  idly  these  few  glimpses  in 
their  song.  But  go  into  the  forest,  you  shall 
find  all  new  and  undescribed.  The  hawking 
of  the  wild  geese  flying  by  night ;  the  thin  note 
14* 


162  LITERARY   ETHICS. 

of  the  companionable  titmouse,  in  the  winter 
day ;  the  fall  of  swarms  of  flies,  in  autumn,  from 
combats  high  in  the  air,  pattering  down  on  the 
leaves  like  rain ;  the  angry  hiss  of  the  wood- 
birds  ;  the  pine  throwing  out  its  pollen  for  the 
benefit  of  the  next  century ;  the  turpentine  ex 
uding  from  the  tree  ;  —  and,  indeed,  any  vegeta 
tion  ;  any  animation ;  any  and  all,  are  alike 
unattempted.  The  man  who  stands  on  the  sea 
shore,  or  who  rambles  in  the  woods,  seems  to  be 
the  first  man  that  ever  stood  on  the  shore,  or  en 
tered  a  grove,  his  sensations  and  his  world  are  so 
novel  and  strange.  Whilst  I  read  the  poets,  I 
think  that  nothing  new  can  be  said  about  morn 
ing  and  evening.  But  when  I  see  the  daybreak, 
I  am  not  reminded  of  these  Homeric,  or  Shaks- 
pearian,  or  Miltonic,'or  Chaucerian  pictures.  No  ; 
but  I  feel  perhaps  the  pain  of  an  alien  world ;  a 
world  not  yet  subdued  by  the  thought ;  or,  I  am 
cheered  by  the  moist,  warm,  glittering,  budding, 
melodious  hour,  that  takes  down  the  narrow 
walls  of  my  soul,  and  extends  its  life  and  pulsa 
tion  to  the  very  horizon.  That  is  morning,  to 
cease  for  a  bright  hour  to  be  a  prisoner  of  this 
sickly  body,  and  to  become  as  large  as  nature. 

The  noonday  darkness  of  the  American  for 
est,  the  deep,  echoing,  aboriginal  woods,  where 
the  living  columns  of  the  oak  and  fir  tower  up 


LITERARY   ETHICS.  163 

from  the  ruins  of  the  trees  of  the  last  millen 
nium  ;  where,  from  year  to  year,  the  eagle  and 
the  crow  see  no  intruder;  the  pines,  bearded 
with  savage  moss,  yet  touched  with  grace  by 
the  violets  at  their  feet ;  the  broad,  cold  lowland, 
which  forms  its  coat  of  vapor  with  the  stillness 
of  subterranean  crystallization ;  and  where  the 
traveller,  amid  the  repulsive  plants  that  are  na 
tive  in  the  swamp,  thinks  with  pleasing  terror  of 
the  distant  town;  this  beauty,  —  haggard  and 
desert  beauty,  which  the  sun  and  the  moon,  the 
snow  and  the  rain,  repaint  and  vary,  has  never 
been  recorded  by  art,  yet  is  not  indifferent  to 
any  passenger.  All  men  are  poets  at  heart. 
They  serve  nature  for  bread,  but  her  loveliness 
overcomes  them  sometimes.  What  mean  these 
journeys  to  Niagara ;  these  pilgrims  to  the  White 
Hills  ?  Men  believe  in  the  adaptations  of  utility, 
always  :  in  the  mountains,  they  may  believe  in 
the  adaptations  of  the  eye.  Undoubtedly,  the 
changes  of  geology  have  a  relation  to  the  pros 
perous  sprouting  of  the  corn  and  peas  in  my 
kitchen  garden ;  but  not  less  is  there  a  relation 
of  beauty  between  my  soul  and  the  dim  crags 
of  Agiocochook  up  there  in  the  clouds.  Every 
man,  when  this  is  told,  hearkens  with  joy,  and 
yet  his  own  conversation  with  nature  is  still  un 
sung. 


164  LITERARY    ETHICS. 

Is  it  otherwise  with  civil  history?  Is  it  not 
the  lesson  of  our  experience  that  every  man, 
were  life  long  enough,  would  write  history  for 
himself?  What  else  do  these  volumes  of  ex 
tracts  and  manuscript  commentaries,  that  every 
scholar  writes,  indicate  ?  Greek  history  is  one 
thing  to  me ;  another  to  you.  Since  the  birth 
of  Niebuhr  and  Wolf,  Roman  and  Greek  History 
have  been  written  anew.  Since  Carlyle  wrote 
French  History,  we  see  that  no  history,  that  we 
have,  is  safe,  but  a  new  classifier  shall  give  it 
new  and  more  philosophical  arrangement.  Thu- 
cydides,  Livy,  have  only  provided  materials. 
The  moment  a  man  of  genius  pronounces  the 
name  of  the  Pelasgi,  of  Athens,  of  the  Etrurian, 
of  the  Roman  people,  we  see  their  state  under  a 
new  aspect.  As  in  poetry  and  history,  so  in  the 
other  departments.  There  are  few  masters  or 
none.  Religion  is  yet  *to  be  settled  on  its  fast 
foundations  in  the  breast  of  man  ;  and  politics, 
and  philosophy,  and  letters,  and  art.  As  yet  we 
have  nothing  but  tendency  and  indication. 

This  starting,  this  warping  of  the  best  literary 
works  from  the  adamant  of  nature,  is  especially 
observable  in  philosophy.  Let  it  take  what  tone 
of  pretension  it  will,  to  this  complexion  must  it 
come,  at  last.  Take,  for  example,  the  French 
Eclecticism,  which  Cousin  esteems  so  conclu- 


LITERARY   ETHICS.  165 

sive ;  there  is  an  optical  illusion  in  it.  It  avows 
great  pretensions.  It  looks  as  if  they  had  all 
truth,  in  taking  all  the  systems,  and  had  nothing 
to  do,  but  to  sift  and  wash  and  strain,  and 
the  gold  and  diamonds  wolild  remain  in  the 
last  colander.  But,  Truth  is  such  a  flyaway, 
such  a  slyboots,  so  untransportable  and  unbar- 
relable  a  commodity,  Ijfcat  it  is  as  bad  to  catch 
as  light.  Shut  the  shutters  never  so  quick, 
to  keep  all  the  light  in,  it  is  all  in  vain;  it 
is  gone  before  you  can  cry,  Hold.  And  so 
it  happens  with  our  philosophy.  Translate, 
collate,  distil  all  the  systems,  it  steads  you 
nothing ;  for  truth  will  not  be  compelled,  in  any 
mechanical  manner.  But  the  first  observation 
you  make,  in  the  sincere  act  of  your  nature, 
though  on  the  veriest  trifle,  may  open  a  new 
view  of  nature  and  of  man,  that,  like  a  men 
struum,  shall  dissolve  ati  theories  in  it;  shall 
take  up  Greece,  Rome,  Stoicism,  Eclecticism, 
and  what  not,  as  mere  data  and  food  for  analy 
sis,  and  dispose  of  your  world-containing  system, 
as  a  very  little  unit.  A  profound  thought,  any 
where,  classifies  all  things  :  a  profound  thought 
will  lift  Olympus.  The  book  of  philosophy  is 
only  a  fact,  and  no  more  inspiring  fact  than  an 
other,  and  no  less ;  but  a  wise  man  will  never 
esteem  it  anything  final  and  transcending.  Go 


166  LITERARY    ETHICS. 

and  talk  with  a  man  of  genius,  and  the  first 
word  he  utters,  sets  all  your  so-called  knowledge 
afloat  and  at  large.  Then  Plato,  Bacon,  Kant, 
and  the  Eclectic  Cousin,  condescend  instantly  to 
be  men  and  mere  facts. 

I  by  no  means  aim,  in  these  remarks,  to  dis 
parage  the  merit  of  these  or  of  any  existing  com 
positions  ;  I  only  say  tha^iny  particular  portrait 
ure  does  not  in  any  manner  exclude  or  forestall  a 
new  attempt,  but,  when  considered  by  the  soul, 
warps  and  shrinks  away.  The  inundation  of 
the  spirit  sweeps  away  before  it  all  our  little 
architecture  of  wit  and  memory,  as  straws  and 
straw-huts  before  the  torrent.  Works  of  the 
intellect  are  great  only  by  comparison  with  each 
other ;  Ivanhoe  and  Waverley  compared  with 
Castle  Radcliffe  and  the  Porter  novels  ;  but  noth 
ing  is  great,  —  not  mighty  Homer  and  Milton,  — 
beside  the  infinite  Reason.  It  carries  them  away 
as  a  flood.  They  are  as  a  sleep. 

Thus  is  justice  done  to  each  generation  and 
individual,  —  wisdom  teaching  man  that  he  shall 
not  hate,  or  fear,  or  mimic  his  ancestors  ;  that  he 
shall  not  bewail  himself,  as  if  the  world  was  old, 
and  thought  was  spent,  and  he  was  born  into  the 
dotage  of  things;  for,  by  virtue  of  the  Deity, 
thought  renews  itself  inexhaustibly  every  day, 
and  the  thing  whereon  it  shines,  though  it  were 


LITERARY   ETHICS.  167 

dust  and  sand,  is  a  new  subject  with  countless 
relations. 

III.  Having  thus  spoken  of  the  resources  and 
the  subject  of  the  scholar,  out  of  the  same  faith 
proceeds  also  the  rule  of  his  ambition  and  life. 
Let  him  know  that  the  world  is  his,  but  he 
must  possess  it  by  putting  himself  into  har 
mony  with  the  constitution  of  things.  He  must 
be  a  solitary,  laborious,  modest,  and  charitable 
soul. 

He  must  embrace  solitude  as  a  bride.  He 
must  have  his  glees  and  his  glooms  alone.  His 
own  estimate  must  be  measure  enough,  his  own 
praise  reward  enough  for  him.  And  why  must 
the  student  be  solitary  and  silent  ?  That  he 
may  become  acquainted  with  his  thoughts.  If 
he  pines  in  a  lonely  place,  hankering  for  the 
crowd,  for  display,  he  is  not  in  the  lonely  place  ; 
his  heart  is  in  the  market ;  he  does  not  see  ;  he 
does  not  hear;  he  does  not  think.  But  go  cher 
ish  your  soul;  expel  companions;  set  your  hab 
its  to  a  life  of  solitude ;  then,  will  the  faculties 
rise  fair  and  full  within,  like  forest  trees  and  field 
flowers ;  you  will  have  results,  which,  when  you 
meet  your  fellow-men,  you  can  communicate, 
and  they  will  gladly  receive.  Do  not  go  into 
solitude  only  that  you  may  presently  come  into 


168  LITERARY   ETHICS. 

public.  Such  solitude  denies  itself;  is  public 
and  stale.  ,  The  public  can  get  public  experi 
ence,  but  they  wish  the  scholar  to  replace  to 
them  those  private,  sincere,  divine  experiences, 
of  which  they  have  been  defrauded  by  dwelling 
in  the  street.  It  is  the  noble,  manlike,  just 
thought,  which  is  the  superiority  demanded  of 
you,  and  not  crowds  but  solitude  confers  this 
elevation.  Not  insulation  of  place,  but  inde 
pendence  of  spirit  is  essential,  and  it  is  only  as 
the  garden,  the  cottage,  the  forest,  and  the  rock, 
are  a  sort  of  mechanical  aids  to  this,  that  they 
are  of  value.  Think  alone,  and  all  places  are 
friendly  and  sacred.  The  poets  who  have  lived 
in  cities  have  been  hermits  still.  Inspiration 
makes  solitude  anywhere.  Pindar,  Raphael,  An- 
gelo,  Dryden,  De  Stael,  dwell  in  crowds,  it  may 
be,  but  the  instant  thought  comes,  the  crowd 
grows  dim  to  their  eye ;  their  eye  fixes  on  the 
horizon,  —  on  vacant  space  ;  they  forget  the  by 
standers  ;  they  spurn  personal  relations ;  they 
deal  with  abstractions,  with  verities,  with  ideas. 
They  are  alone  with  the  mind. 

Of  course,  I  would  not  have  any  superstition 
about  solitude.  Let  the  youth  study  the  uses  of 
solitude  and  of  society.  Let  him  use  both,  not 
serve  either.  The  reason  why  an  ingenious  soul 
shuns  society,  is  to  the  end  of  finding  society. 


LITERARY  ETHICS.  169 

It  repudiates  the  false,  out  of  love  of  the  true. 
You  can  very  soon  learn  all  that  society  can 
teach  you  for  one  while.  Its  foolish  routine,  an 
indefinite  multiplication  of  balls,  concerts,  rides, 
theatres,  can  teach  you  no  more  than  a  few  can. 
Then  accept  the  hint  of  shame,  of  spiritual 
emptiness  and  waste,  which ,  true  nature  gives 
you,  and  retire,  and  hide ;  lock  the  door ;  shut 
the  shutters  ;  then  welcome  falls  the  imprisoning 
rain,  —  dear  hermitage  of  nature.  Re-collect 
the  spirits.  Have  solitary  prayer  and  praise. 
Digest  and  correct  the  past  experience ;  and 
blend  it  with  the  new  and  divine  life. 

You  will  pardon  me,  Gentlemen,  if  I  say,  I 
think  that  we  have  need  of  a  more  rigorous 
scholastic  rule;  such  an  asceticism,  I  mean,  as 
only  the  hardihood  and  devotion  of  the  scholar 
himself  can  enforce.  We  live  in  the  sun  and  on 
the  surface,  —  a  thin,  plausible,  superficial  ex 
istence,  and  talk  of  muse  and  prophet,  of  art 
and  creation.  But  out  of  our  shallow  and  frivo 
lous  way  of  life,  how  can  greatness  ever  grow  ? 
Come  now,  let  us  go  and  be  dumb.  Let  us  sit 
with  our  hands  on  our  mouths,  a  long,  austere, 
Pythagorean  lustrum.  Let  us  live  in  corners, 
and  do  chores,  and  suffer,  and  weep,  and  drudge, 
with  eyes  and  hearts  that  love  the  Lord.  Si 
lence,  seclusion,  austerity,  may  pierce  deep  into 
15 


170  LITERARY   ETHICS. 

the  grandeur  and  secret  of  our  being,  and  so 
diving,  bring  up  out  of  secular  darkness,  the 
sublimities  of  the  moral  constitution.  How 
mean  to  go  blazing,  a  gaudy  butterfly,  in  fash 
ionable  or  political  saloons,  the  fool  of  society, 
the  fool  of  notoriety,  a  topic  for  newspapers,  a 
piece  of  the  street,  and  forfeiting  the  leal  pre 
rogative  of  the  russet  coat,  the  privacy,  and  the 
true  and  warm  heart  of  the  citizen  ! 

Fatal  to  the  man  of  letters,  fatal  to  man,  is 
the  lust  of  display,  the  seeming  that  unmakes 
our  being.  A  mistake  of  the  main  end  to  which 
they  labor,  is  incident  to  literary  men,  who, 
dealing  with  the  organ  of  language,  —  the  sub 
tlest,  strongest,  and  longest-lived  of  man's  cre 
ations,  and  only  fitly  used  as  the  weapon  of 
thought  and  of  justice, — learn  to  enjoy  the 
pride  of  playing  with  this  splendid  engine,  but 
rob  it  of  its  almightiness  by  failing  to  work  with 
it.  Extricating  themselves  from  the  tasks  of 
the  world,  the  world  revenges  itself  by  expos 
ing,  at  every  turn,  the  folly  of  these  incom 
plete,  pedantic,  useless,  ghostly  creatures.  The 
scholar  will  feel,  that  the  richest  romance,  —  the 
noblest  fiction  that  was  ever  woven,  —  the  heart 
and  soul  of  beauty,  —  lies  enclosed  in  human 
life.  Itself  of  surpassing  value,  it  is  also  the 
richest  material  for  his  creations.  How  shall 


LITERARY  ETHICS.  171 

he  know  its  secrets  of  tenderness,  of  terror,  of 
will,  and  of  fate  ?  How  can  he  catch  and  keep 
the  strain  of  upper  music  that  peals  from  it  ?  Its 
laws  are  concealed  under  the  details  of  daily  ac 
tion.  All  action  is  an  experiment  upon  them. 
He  must  bear  his  share  of  the  common  load.  He 
must  work  with  men  in  houses,  and  not  with 
their  names  in  books.  His  needs,  appetites,  tal 
ents,  affections,  accomplishments,  are  keys  that 
open  to  him  the  beautiful  museum  of  human  life. 
Why  should  he  read  it  as  an  Arabian  tale,  and 
not  know,  in  his  own  beating  bosom,  its  sweet 
and  smart  ?  Out  of  love  and  hatred,  out  of  earn 
ings,  and  borrowings,  and  lendings,  and  losses ; 
out  of  sickness  and  pain  ;  out  of  wooing  and 
worshipping ;  out  of  travelling,  and  voting,  and 
watching,  and  caring ;  out  of  disgrace  and  con 
tempt,  comes  our  tuition  in  the  serene  and  beau 
tiful  laws.  Let  him  not  slur  his  lesson  ;  let  him 
learn  it  by  heart.  Let  him  endeavor  exactly, 
bravely,  and  cheerfully,  to  solve  the  problem  of 
that  life  which  is  set  before  him.  And  this,  by 
punctual  action,  and  not  by  promises  or  dreams. 
Believing,  as  in  God,  in  the  presence  and  favor 
of  the  grandest  influences,  let  him  deserve  that 
favor,  and  learn  how  to  receive  and  use  it,  by 
fidelity  also  to  the  lower  observances. 

This  lesson  is  taught  with  emphasis  in  the 


172  LITERARY   ETHICS. 

life  of  the  great  actor  of  this  age,  and  affords  the 
explanation  of  his  success.  Bonaparte  represents 
truly  a  great  recent  revolution,  which  we  in  this 
country,  please  God,  shall  carry  to  its  farthest 
consummation.  Not  the  least  instructive  passage 
in  modern  history,  seems  to  me  a  trait  of  Napo 
leon,  exhibited  to  the  English  when  he  became 
their  prisoner.  On  coming  on  board  the  Belle- 
rophon,  a  file  of  English  soldiers  drawn  up  on 
deck,  gave  him  a  military  salute.  Napoleon 
observed,  that  their  manner  of  handling  their 
arms  differed  from  the  French  exercise,  and, 
putting  aside  the  guns  of  those  nearest  him, 
walked  up  to  a  soldier,  took  his  gun,  and  himself 
went  through  the  motion  in  the  French  mode. 
The  English  officers  and  men  looked  on  with 
astonishment,  and  inquired  if  such  familiarity 
was  usual  with  the  Emperor. 

In  this  instance,  as  always,  that  man,  with 
whatever  defects  or  vices,  represented  perform 
ance  in  lieu  of  pretension.  Feudalism  and 
Orientalism  had  long  enough  thought  it  majestic 
to  do  nothing;  the  modern  majesty  consists  in 
work.  He  belonged  to  a  class  fast  growing  in 
the  world,  who  think,  that  what  a  man  can  do 
is  his  greatest  ornament,  and  that  he  always 
consults  his  dignity  by  doing  it.  He  was  not 
a  believer  in  luck ;  he  had  a  faith,  like  sight, 


LITERARY   ETHICS.  173 

in  the  application  of  means  to  ends.  Means 
to  ends,  is  the  motto  of  all  his  behavior.  He 
believed  that  the  great  captains  of  antiquity 
performed  their  exploits  only  by  correct  combi 
nations,  and  by  justly  comparing  the  relation 
between  means  and  consequences ;  efforts  and 
obstacles.  The  vulgar  call  good  fortune  that 
which  really  is  produced  by  the  calculations  of 
genius.  But  Napoleon,  thus  faithful  to  facts, 
had  also  this  crowning  merit;  that,  whilst  he 
believed  in  number  and  weight,  and  omitted  no 
part  of  prudence,  he  believed  also  in  the  freedom 
and  quite  incalculable  force  of  the  soul.  A  man 
of  infinite  caution,  he  neglected  never  the  least 
particular  of  preparation,  of  patient  adaptation ; 
yet  nevertheless  he  had  a  sublime  confidence,  as 
in  his  all,  in  the  sallies  of  the  courage,  and  the 
faith  in  his  destiny,  which,  at  the  right  moment, 
repaired  all  losses,  and  demolished  cavalry,  infan 
try,  king,  and  kaisar,  as  with  irresistible  thun 
derbolts.  As  they  say  the  bough  of  the  tree  has 
the  character  of  the  leaf,  and  the  whole  tree  of 
the  bough,  so,  it  is  curious  to  remark,  Bonaparte's 
army  partook  of  this  double  strength  of  the  cap 
tain  ;  for,  whilst  strictly  supplied  in  all  its  appoint 
ments,  and  everything  expected  from  the  valor 
and  discipline  of  every  platoon,  in  flank  and  cen 
tre,  yet  always  remained  his  total  trust  in  the.  pro- 
15* 


174  LITERAEY   ETHICS. 

digious  revolutions  of  fortune,  which  his  reserved 
Imperial  Guard  were  capable  of  working,  if,  in 
all  else,  the  day  was  lost.  Here  he  was  sublime. 
He  no  longer  calculated  the  chance  of  the  can 
non  ball.  He  was  faithful  to  tactics  to  the 
uttermost,  —  and  when  all  tactics  had  corne  to 
an  end,  then,  he  dilated,  and  availed  himself  of 
the  mighty  saltations  of  the  most  formidable 
soldiers  in  nature. 

Let  the  scholar  appreciate  this  combination  of 
gifts,  which,  applied  to  better  purpose,  make  true 
wisdom.  He  is  a  revealer  of  things.  Let  him 
first  learn  the  things.  Let  him  not,  too  eager  to 
grasp  some  badge  of  reward,  omit  the  work  to 
be  done.  Let  him  know,  that,  though  the  suc 
cess  of  the  market  is  in  the  reward,  true  success 
is  the  doing ;  that,  in  the  private  obedience  to 
his  mind  ;  in  the  sedulous  inquiry,  day  after  day, 
year  after  year,  to  know  how  the  thing  ^stands ; 
in  the  use  of  all  means,  and  most  in  the  reverence 
of  the  humble  commerce  and  humble  needs  of 
life,  —  to  hearken  what  they  say,  and  so,  by 
mutual  reaction  of  thought  and  life,  to  make 
thought  solid,  and  life  wise ;  and  in  a  contempt 
for  the  gabble  of  to-day's  opinions,  the  secret  of 
the  world  is  to  be  learned,  and  the  skill  truly  to 
unfold  it  is  acquired.  Or,  rather,  is  it  not,  that, 
by  this  discipline,  the  usurpation  of  the  senses  is 


LITERARY   ETHICS.  175 

overcome,  and  the  lower  faculties  of  man  are 
subdued  to  docility ;  through  which,  as  an  un 
obstructed  channel,  the  soul  now  easily  and 
gladly  flows  ? 

The  good  scholar  will  not  refuse  to  bear  the 
yoke  in  his  youth  ;  to  know,  if  he  can,  the  utter 
most  secret  of  toil  and  endurance  ;  to  make  his 
own  hands  acquainted  with  the  soil  by  which 
he  is  fed,  and  the  sweat  that  goes  before  comfort 
and  luxury.  Let  him  pay  his  tithe,  and  serve 
the  world  as  a  true  and  noble  man ;  never  for 
getting  to  worship  the  immortal  divinities,  who 
whisper  to  the  poet,  and  make  him  the  utterer  of 
melodies  that  pierce  the  ear  of  eternal  time. 
If  he  have  this  twofold  goodness, — the  drill  and 
the  inspiration, —  then  he  has  health;  then  he 
is  a  whole,  and  not  a  fragment ;  and  the  perfec 
tion  of  his  endowment  will  appear  in  his  compo 
sitions.  Indeed,  this  twofold  merit  characterizes 
ever  the  productions  of  great  masters.  The  man 
of  genius  should  occupy  the  whole  space  between 
God  or  pure  mind,  and  the  multitude  of  unedu 
cated  men.  He  must  draw  from  the  infinite 
Reason,  on  one  side  ;  and  he  must  penetrate  into 
the  heart  and  sense  of  the  crowd,  on  the  other. 
From  one,  he  must  draw  his  strength  ;  to  the 
other  he  must  owe  his  aim.  The  one  yokes 
him  to  the  real ;  the  other,  to  the  apparent.  At 


176  LITERARY   ETHICS. 

one  pole,  is  Reason ;  at  the  other,  Common 
Sense.  If  he  be  defective  at  either  extreme  of 
the  scale,  his  philosophy  will  seem  low  and 
utilitarian ;  or  it  will  appear  too  vague  and  in 
definite  for  the  uses  of  life. 

The  student,  as  we  all  along  insist,  is  great 
only  by  being  passive  to  the  superincumbent 
spirit.  Let  this  faith,  then,  dictate  all  his  action. 
Snares  and  bribes  abound  to  mislead  him ;  let 
him  be  true  nevertheless.  His  success  has  its 
perils  too.  There  is  somewhat  inconvenient  and 
injurious  in  his  position.  They  whom  his 
thoughts  have  entertained  or  inflamed,  seek  him 
before  yet  they  have  learned  the  hard  conditions 
of  thought.  They  seek  him,  that  he  may  turn 
his  lamp  on  the  dark  riddles  whose  solution 
they  think  is  inscribed  on  the  walls  of  their 
being.  They  find  that  he  is  a  poor,  ignorant 
man,  in  a  white-seamed,  rusty  coat,  like  them 
selves,  no  wise  emitting  a  continuous  stream  of 
light^  but  now  and  then  a  jet  of  luminous 
thought,  followed  by  total  darkness  ;  moreover, 
that  he  cannot  make  of  his  infrequent  illumination 
a  portable  taper  to  carry  whither  he  would,  arid 
explain  now  this  dark  riddle,  now  that.  Sorrow 
ensues.  The  scholar  regrets  to  damp  the  hope 
of  ingenuous  boys  ;  and  the  youth  has  lost  a  star 
out  of  his  new  flaming  firmament.  Hence  the 


LITERARY   ETHICS.  177 

temptation  to  the  scholar  to  mystify ;  to  hear 
the  question ;  to  sit  upon  it ;  to  make  an  answer 
of  words,  in  lack  of  the  oracle  of  things.  Not 
the  less  let  him  be  cold  and  true,  and  wait  in 
patience,  knowing  that  truth  can  make  even 
silence  eloquent  and  memorable.  Truth  shall  be 
policy  enough  for  him.  Let  him  open  his  breast 
to  all  honest  inquiry,  and  be  an  artist  superior  to 
tricks  of  art.  Show  frankly  as  a  saint  would  do, 
your  experience,  methods,  tools,  and  means. 
Welcome  all  comers  to  the  freest  use  of  the  same. 
And  out  of  this  superior  frankness  and  charity, 
you  shall  learn  higher  secrets  of  your  nature, 
which  gods  will  bend  and  aid  you  to  communi 
cate. 

'  If,  with  a  high  trust,  he  can  thus  submit  him 
self,  he  will  find  that  ample  returns  are  poured 
into  his  bosom,  out  of  what  seemed  hours  of 
obstruction  and  loss.  Let  him  not  grieve  too 
much  on  account  of  unfit  associates.  When  he 
sees  how  much  thought  he  owes  to  the  disagree 
able  antagonism  of  various  persons  who  pass  and 
cross  him,  he  can  easily  think  that  in  a  society 
of  perfect  sympathy,  no  word,  no  act,  no  record, 
would  be.  He  will  learn,  that  it  is  not  much 
matter  what  he  reads,  what  he  does.  Be  a  scho 
lar,  and  he  shall  have  the  scholar's  part  of  every 
thing.  As,  in  the  counting-room,  the  merchant 


178  LITERARY   ETHICS. 

cares  little  whether  the  cargo  be  hides  or  barilla ; 
the  transaction,  a  letter  of  credit  or  a  transfer  of 
stocks ;  be  it  what  it  may,  his  commission  comes 
gently  out  of  it ;  'so  you  shall  get  your  lesson  out 
of  the  hour,  and  the  object,  whether  it  be  a  con 
centrated  or  a  wasteful  employment,  even  in 
reading  a  dull  book,  or  working  off  a  stint  of 
mechanical  day  labor,  which  your  necessities  or 
the  necessities  of  others  impose. 

Gentlemen,  I  have  ventured  to  offer  you  these 
considerations  upon  the  scholar's  place,  and  hope, 
because  I  thought,  that,  standing,  as  many  of 
you  now  do,  on  the  threshold  of  this  College, 
girt  and  ready  to  go  and  assume  tasks,  public  and 
private,  in  your  country,  you  would  not  be  sorry 
to  be  admonished  of  those  primary  duties  of  the 
intellect,  whereof  you  will  seldom  hear  from  the 
lips  of  your  new  companions.  You  will  hear 
every  day  the  maxims  of  a  low  prudence.  You 
will  hear,  that  the  first  duty  is  to  get  land  and 
money,  place  and  name.  4  What  is  this  Truth 
you  seek  ?  what  is  this  Beauty  ?  '  men  will  ask, 
with  derision.  If,  nevertheless,  God  have  called 
any  of  you  to  explore  truth  and  beauty,  be  bold,  be 
firm,  be  true.  When  you  shall  say,  '  As  others 
do,  so  will  I :  I  renounce,  I  am  sorry  for  it,  my 
early  visions  ;  I  must  eat  the  good  of  the  land, 


LITERARY   ETHICS.  179 

and  let  learning  and  romantic  expectations  go, 
until  a  more  convenient  season ; '  — then  dies  the 
man  in  you;  then  once  more  perish  the  buds  of 
art,  and  poetry,  and  science,  as  they  have  died 
already  in  a  thousand  thousand  men.  The  hour 
of  that  choice  is  the  crisis  of  your  history  ;  and 
see  that  you  hold  yourself  fast  by  the  intellect. 
It  is  this  domineering  temper  of  the  sensual 
world,  that  creates  the  extreme  need  of  the 
priests  of  science  ;  and  it  is  the  office  and  right 
of  the  intellect  to  make  and  not  take  its  estimate. 
Bend  to  the  persuasion  which  is  flowing  to  you 
from  every  object  in  nature,  to  be  its  tongue  to 
the  heart  of  man,  and  to  show  the  besotted  world 
how  passing  fair  is  wisdom.  Forewarned  that 
the  vice  of  the  times  and  the  country  is  an  ex 
cessive  pretension,  let  us  seek  the  shade,  and  find 
wisdom  in  neglect.  Be  content  with  a  little 
light,  so  it  be  your  own.  Explore,  and  explore. 
Be  neither  chided  nor  flattered  out  of  your  posi 
tion  of  perpetual  inquiry.  Neither  dogmatize, 
nor  accept  another's  dogmatism.  Why  should 
you  renounce  your  right  to  traverse  the  star-lit 
deserts  of  truth,  for  the  premature  comforts  of  an 
acre,  house,  and  barn  ?  Truth  also  has  its. roof, 
and  bed,  and  boa'rd.  Make  yourself  necessary 
to  the  world,  and  mankind  will  give  you  bread, 
and  if  not  store  of  it,  yet  such  as  shall  not  take 


180  LITERARY   ETHICS. 

away  your  property  in  all  men's  possessions,  in 
all  men's  affections,  in  art,  in  nature,  and  in 
hope. 

You  will  not  fear,  that  I  am  enjoining  too 
stern  an  asceticism.  Ask  not,  Of  what  use  is  a 
scholarship  that  systematically  retreats?  or,  Who 
is  the  better  for  the  philosopher  who  conceals  his 
accomplishments,  and  hides  his  thoughts  from 
the  waiting  world  ?  Hides  his  thoughts !  Hide 
the  sun  and  moon.  Thought  is  all  light,  and 
publishes  itself  to  the  universe.  It  will  speak, 
though  you  were  dumb,  by  its  own  miraculous 
organ.  It  will  flow  out  of  your  actions,  your 
manners,  and  your  face.  It  will  bring  you 
friendships.  It  will  impledge  you  to  truth  by 
the  love  and  expectation  of  generous  minds.  By 
virtue  of  the  laws  of  that  Nature,  which  is  one 
and  perfect,  it  shall  yield  every  sincere  good 
that  is  in  the  soul,  to  the  scholar  beloved  of 
earth  and  heaven. 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

AN   ORATION   DELIVERED    BEFORE  THE   SOCIETY  OF  THE  ADELPHI, 
IN  WATERVILLE  COLLEGE,  MAINE,  AUGUST  11,   1841. 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 


GENTLEMEN, 

LET  us  exchange  congratulations  on  the  enjoy 
ments  and  the  promises  of  this  literary  anniver 
sary.  The  land  we  live  in  has  no  interest  so 
dear,  if  it  knew  its  want,  as  the  fit  consecration 
of  days  of  reason  and  thought.  Where  there  is 
no  vision,  the  people  perish.  The  scholars  are 
the  priests  of  that  thought  which  establishes  the 
foundations  of  the  earth.  No  matter  what  is 
their  special  work  or  profession,  they  stand  for 
the  spiritual  interest  of  the  world,  and  it  is  a 
common  calamity  if  they  neglect  their  post  in  a 
country  where  the  material  interest  is  so  pre 
dominant  as  it  is  in  America.  We  hear  some 
thing  too  much  of  the  results  of  machinery, 
commerce,  and  the  useful  arts.  We  are  a  puny 
and  a  fickle  folk.  Avarice,  hesitation,  and  fol- 


184        THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

lowing,  are  our  diseases.  The  rapid  wealth  which 
hundreds  in  the  community  acquire  in  trade,  or 
by  the  incessant  expansions  of  our  population 
and  arts,  enchants  the  eyes  of  all  the  rest ;  the 
luck  of  one  is  the  hope  of  thousands,  and  the 
bribe  acts  like  the  neighborhood  of  a  gold  mine 
to  impoverish  the  farm,  the  school,  the  church, 
the  house,  and  the  very  body  and  feature  of 
man. 

I  do  not  wish  to  look  with  sour  aspect  at  the 
industrious  manufacturing  village,  or  the  mart  of 
commerce.  I  love  the  music  of  the  water-wheel; 
I  value  the  railway ;  I  feel  the  pride  which  the 
sight  of  a  ship  inspires ;  I  look  on  trade  and 
every  mechanical  craft  as  education  also.  But 
let  me  discriminate  what  is  precious  herein. 
There  is  in  each  of  these  works  an  ayt  of  inven 
tion,  an  intellectual  step,  or  short  series  of  steps 
taken ;  that  act  or  step  is  the  spiritual  act ;  all 
the  rest  is  mere  repetition  of  the  same  a  thousand 
times.  And  I  will  not  be  deceived  into  admiring 
the  routine  of  handicrafts  and  mechanics,  how 
splendid  soever  the  result,  any  more  than  I  ad 
mire  the  routine  of  the  scholars  or  clerical  class. 
That  splendid  results  ensue  from  the  labors  of 
stupid  men,  is  the  fruit  of  higher  laws  than  their 
will,  and  the  routine  is  not  to  be  praised  for  it. 
I  would  not  have  the  laborer  sacrificed  to  the 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.        185 

result,  —  I  would  not  have  the  laborer  sacrificed 
to  my  convenience  and  pride,  nor  to  that  of  a 
great  class  of  such  as  me.  Let  there  be  worse 
cotton  and  better  men.  The  weaver  should  not 
be  bereaved  of  his  superiority  to  his  work,  and 
his  knowledge  that  the  product  or  the  skill  is  of 
no  value,  except  so  far  as  it  embodies  his  spiritual 
prerogatives.  If -I  see  nothing  to  admire  in  the 
unit,  shall  I  admire  a  million  units  ?  Men  stand 
in  awe  of  the  city,  but  do  not  honor  any  individ 
ual  citizen  ;  and  are  continually  yielding  to  this 
dazzling  result  of  numbers,  that  which  they 
would  never  yield  to  the  solitary  example  of 
any  one. 

Whilst  the  multitude  of  men  degrade  each 
other,  and  give  currency  to  desponding  doctrines, 
the  scholar  must  be  a  bringer  of  hope,  and  must 
reinforce  man  against  himself.  I  sometimes  be 
lieve  that  our  literary  anniversaries  will  presently 
assume  a  greater  importance,  as  the  eyes  of  men 
open  to  their  capabilities.  Here,  a  new  set  of 
distinctions,  a  new  order  of  ideas,  prevail.  Here, 
we  set  a  bound  to  the  respectability  of  wealth, 
and  a  bound  to  the  pretensions  of  the  law  and 
the  church.  The  bigot  must  cease  to  be  a  bigot 
to-day.  Into  our  charmed  circle,  power  cannot 
enter;  and  the  sturdiest  defender  of  existing  in 
stitutions  feels  the  terrific  inflammability  of  this 
16* 


186        THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

air  which  condenses  heat  in  every  corner  thai 
may  restore  to  the  elements  the  fabrics  of  ages 
Nothing  solid  is    secure  ;  every  thing  tilts  anc 
rocks.     Even  the  scholar  is  not  safe  ;  he  too  is 
searched  and  revised.     Is  his  learning  dead?    I 
he  living  in  his  memory  ?     The  power  of  mine 
is  not  mortification,  but  life      But  come  forth, 
thou  curious  child !  hither,  thou  loving,  all-hop 
ing  poet!    hither,  thou   tender,  doubting  heart, 
who  has  not  yet  found  any  place  in  the  world's 
market   fit   for    thee ;    any   wares   which   thou 
couldst  buy  or  sell,  —  so  large  is  thy  love  and 
ambition,  —  thine    and   not  theirs  is   the   hour. 
Smooth  thy  brow,  and  hope  and  love  on,  for  the 
kind  heaven  justifies  thee,  and  the  whole  world 
feels  that  thou  art  in  the  right. 

We  ought  to  celebrate  this  hour  by  expressions 
of  manly  joy.  Not  thanks,  not  prayer  seem  quite 
the  highest  or  truest  name  for  our  communica 
tion  with  the  infinite, —  but  glad  and  conspiring 
reception,  —  reception  that  becomes  giving  in  its 
turn,  as  the  receiver  is  only  the  All-Giver  in  part 
and  in  infancy.  I  cannot,  —  nor  can  any  man, — 
speak  precisely  of  things  so  sublime,  but  it  seems 
to  me,  the  wit  of  man,  his  strength,  his  grace, 
his  tendency,  his  art,  is  the  grace  and  the  pres 
ence  of  God.  It  is  beyond  explanation.  When 
all  is  said  and  done,  the  rapt  saint  is  found  the 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.        187 

only  logician.  Not  exhortation,  not  argument 
becomes  our  lips,  but  paeans  of  joy  and  praise. 
But  not  of  adulation ;  we  are  too  nearly  related 
in  the  deep  of  the  mind  to  that  we  honor.  It  is 
God  in  us  which  checks  the  language  of  petition 
by  a  grander  thought.  In  the  bottom'  of  the 
heart,  it  is  said ;  '  I  arn,  and  by  me,  O  child  !  this 
fair  body  and  world  of  thine  stands  and  grows. 
I  am ;  all  things  are  mine  :  and  all  mine  are 
thine.' 

The  festival  of  the  intellect,  and  the  return  to 
its  source,  cast  a  strong  light  on  the  always  inter 
esting  topics  of  Man  and  Nature.  We  are  forci 
bly  reminded  of  the  old  want.  There  is  no  man  ; 
there  hath  never  been.  The  Intellect  still  asks 
that  a  man  may  be  born.  The  flame  of  life 
flickers  feebly  in  human  breasts.  We  demand 
of  men  a  richness  and  universality  we  do  not 
find.  Great  men  do  not  content  us.  It  is  their 
solitude,  not  their  force,  that  makes  them  con 
spicuous.  There  is  somewhat  indigent  and 
tedious  about  them.  They  are  poorly  tied  to 
one  thought.  If  they  are  prophets,  they  are 
egotists ;  if  polite  and  various,  they  are  shallow. 
How  tardily  men  arrive  at  any  result !  how  tar 
dily  they  pass  from  it  to  another !  The  crystal 
sphere  of  thought  is  as  concentrical  as  the  geo 
logical  structure  of  the  globe.  As  our  soils  and 


188         THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

rocks  lie  in  strata,  concentric  strata,  so  do  all 
men's  thinkings  run  laterally,  never  vertically. 
Here  comes  by  a  great  inquisitor  with  auger  and 
plumb-line,  and  will  bore  an  Artesian  well  through 
our  conventions  and  theories,  and  pierce  to  the 
core  of  things.  But  as  soon  as  he  probes  the 
crust,  behold  gimlet,  plumb-line,  and  philosopher 
take  a  lateral  direction,  in  spite  of  all  resistance, 
as  if  some  strong  wind  took  everything  off  its 
feet,  and  if  you  come  month  after  month  to  see 
what  progress  our  reformer  has  made,  —  not  an 
inch  has  he  pierced,  —  you  still  find  him  with 
new  words  in  the  old  place,  floating  about  in  new 
parts  of  the  same  old  vein  or  crust.  The  new 
book  says,  4  I  will  give  you  the  key  to  nature/ 
and  we  expect  to  go  like  a  thunderbolt  to  the 
centre.  But  the  thunder  is  a  surface  phenome 
non,  makes  a  skin-deep  cut,  and  so  does  the  sage. 
The  wedge  turns  out  to  be  a  rocket.  Thus  a 
man  lasts  but  a  very  little  while,  for  his  mono 
mania  becomes  insupportably  tedious  in  a  few 
months.  It  is  so  with  every  book  and  person: 
and  yet  ^— and  yet  —  we  do  not  take  up  a  new 
book,  or  meet  a  new  man,  without  a  pulse-beat 
of  expectation.  And  this  invincible  hope  of  a 
more  adequate  interpreter  is  the  sure  prediction 
of  his  advent. 

In   the   absence   of  man,  we  turn  to  nature, 


THE  METHOD  OP  NATUBE.        189 

which  stands  next.  In  the  divine  order,  intellect 
is  primary ;  nature,  secondary ;  it  is  the  memory 
of  the  mind.  That  which  once  existed  in  intel 
lect  as  pure  law,  has  now  taken  body  as  Nature. 
It  existed  already  in  the  mind  in  solution  ;  now, 
it  has  been  precipitated,  arid  the  bright  sediment 
is  the  world.  We  can  never  be  quite  strangers 
or  inferiors  in  nature.  It  is  flesh  of  our  flesh, 
and  bone  of  our  bone.  But  we  no  longer  hold 
it  by  the  hand ;  we  have  lost  our  miraculous 
power ;  our  arm  is  no  more  as  strong  as  the  frost ; 
nor  our  will  equivalent  to  gravity  and  the  elec 
tive  attractions.  Yet  we  can  use  nature  as  a 
convenient  standard,  and  the  meter  of  our  rise 
and  fall.  It  has  this  advantage  as  a  witness,  it 
cannot  be  debauched.  When  man  curses,  na 
ture  still  testifies  to  truth  and  love.  We  may, 
therefore,  safely  study  the  mind  in  nature,  be 
cause  we  cannot  steadily  gaze  on  it  in  mind ;  as 
we  explore  the  face  of  the  sun  in  a  pool,  when 
our  eyes  cannot  brook  his  direct  splendors. 

It  seems  to  me,  therefore,  that  it  were  some 
•suitable  pa3an,  if  we  should  piously  celebrate  this 
hour  by  exploring  the  method  of  nature.  Let 
us  see  that,  as  nearly  as  we  can,  and  try*  how 
far  it  is  transferable  to  the  literary  life.  Every 
earnest  glance  we  give  to  the  realities  around 
us,  with  intent  to  learn,  proceeds  from  a  holy  im- 


190         THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

pulse,  and  is  really  songs  of  praise.  "What  dif 
ference  can  it  make  whether  it  take  the  shape  of 
exhortation,  or  of  passionate  exclamation,  or  of 
scientific  statement  ?  These  are  forms  merely. 
Through  them  we  express,  at  last,  the  fact,  that 
God  has  done  thus  or  thus. 

In  treating  a  subject  so  large,  in  which  we 
must  necessarily  appeal  to  the  intuition,  and  aim 
much  more  to  suggest,  then  to  describe,  I  know 
it  is  not  easy  to  speak  with  the  precision  attain 
able  on  topics  of  less  scope.  I  do  not  wish  in 
attempting  to  paint  a  man,  to  describe  an  air-fed, 
unimpassioned,  impossible  ghost.  My  eyes  and 
ears  are  revolted  by  any  neglect  of  the  physical 
facts,  the  limitations  of  man.  And  yet  one  who 
conceives  the  true  order  of  nature,  and  beholds 
the  visible  as  proceeding  from  the  invisible,  can 
not  state  his  thought,  without  seeming  to  those 
who  study  the  physical  laws,  to  do  them  some 
injustice.  There  is  an  intrinsic  defect  in  the 
organ.  Language  overstates.  Statements  of  the 
infinite,  are  usually  felt  to  be  unjust  to  the 
finite,  and  blasphemous.  Empedocles  undoubt 
edly  spoke  a  truth  of  thought,  when  he  said,  "  I 
am  God;"  but  the  moment  it  was  out  of  his 
mouth,  it  became  a  lie  to  the  ear ;  and  the  world 
revenged  itself  for  the  seeming  arrogance,  by  the 
good  story  about  his  shoe.  How  can  I  hope  for 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.        191 

better  hap  in  my  attempts  to  enunciate  spiritual 
facts  ?  Yet  let  us  hope,  that  as  far  as  ~we  receive 
the  truth,  so  far  shall  we  be  felt  by  every  true 
person  to  say  what  is  just. 

The  method  of  nature :  who  could  ever  ana 
lyze  it  ?  That  rushing  stream  will  not  stop  to 
be  observed.  We  can  never  surprise  nature  in  a 
corner;  never  find  the  end  of  a  thread;  never 
tell  where  to  set  the  first  stone.  The  bird  has 
tens  to  lay  her  egg  :  the  egg  hastens  to  be  a 
bird.  The  wholeness  we  admire  in  the  order  of 
the  world,  is  the  result  of  infinite  distribution. 
Its  smoothness  is  the  smoothness  of  the  pitch  of 
the  cataract.  Its  permanence  is  a  perpetual 
inchoation.  Every  natural  fact  is  an  emanation, 
and  that  from  which  it  emanates  is  an  emanation 
also,  and  from  every  emanation  is  a  new  emana 
tion.  If  anything  could  stand  still,  it  would  be 
crushed  and  dissipated  by  the  torrent  it  resisted, 
and  if  it  were  a  mind,  would  be  crazed  ;  as  in 
sane  persons  are  those  who  hold  fast  to  one 
thought,  and  do  not  flow  with  the  course  of 
nature.  Not  the  cause,  but  an  ever  novel  effect, 
nature  descends  always  from  above.  It  is  un 
broken  obedience.  The  beauty  of  these  fair 
objects  is  imported  into  them  from  a  metaphysi 
cal  and  eternal  spring.  In  all  animal  and  vege 
table  forms,  the  physiologist  concedes  that  no 


192,  THE   METHOD    OF   NATURE. 

chemistry,  no  mechanics,  can  account  for  the 
facts,  but  a  mysterious  principle  of  life  must  be 
assumed,  which  not  only  inhabits  the  organ,  but 
makes  the  organ. 

How  silent,  how  spacious,  what  room  for 
all,  yet  without  place  to  insert  an  atom,  —  in 
graceful  succession,  in  equal  fulness,  in  balanced 
beauty,  the  dance  of  the  hours  goes  forward 
still.  Like  an  odor  of  incense,  like  a  strain  of 
music,  like  a  sleep,  it  is  inexact  and  bound 
less.  It  will  not  be  dissected,  nor  unravelled, 
nor  shown.  Away  profane  philosopher!  seek- 
est  thou  in  nature  the  cause?  This  refers  to 
that,  and  that  to  the  next,  and  the  next  to  the 
third,  and  everything  refers.  Thou  must  ask  in " 
another  mood,  thou  must  feel  it  and  love  it,  thou 
must  behold  it  in  a  spirit  as  grand  as  that  by 
which  it  exists,  ere  thou  canst  know  the  law. 
Known  it  will  not  be,  but  gladly  beloved  and 
enjoyed. 

The  simultaneous  life  throughout  the  whole 
body,  the  equal  serving  of  innumerable  ends 
without  the  least  emphasis  or  preference  to  any, 
but  the  steady  degradation  of  each  to  the  suc 
cess  of  all,  allows  the  understanding  no  place  to 
work.  Nature  can  only  be  conceived  as  existing 
to  a  universal  and  not  to  a  particular  end,  to  a 
universe  of  ends,  and  not  to  one,  —  a  work  of 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.         193 

ecstasy^  to  be  represented  by  a  circular  move 
ment,  as  intention  might  be  signified  by  a 
straight  line  of  definite  length.  ,  Each  effect 
strengthens  every  other.  There  is  no  revolt  in 
all  the  kingdoms  from  the  commonweal :  no 
detachment  of  an  individual.  Hence  the  cath 
olic  character  which  makes  every  leaf  and  ex 
ponent  of  the  world.  When  we  behold,  the 
landscape  in  a  poetic  spirit,  we  do  not  reckon 
individuals.  Nature  knows  neither  palm  nor  oak, 
but  only  vegetable  life,  which  sprouts  into  for 
ests,  and  festoons  the  globe  with  a  garland  of 
grasses  and  vines. 

That  no  single  end  may  be  selected,  and  na 
ture  judged  thereby,  appears  from  this,  that  if 
man  himself  be  considered  as  the  end,  and  it  be 
assumed  that  the  final  cause  of  the  world  is  to 
make  holy  or  wise  or  beautiful  men,  we  see  that 
it  has  not  succeeded.  Read  alternately  in  natu 
ral  and  in  civil  history,  a  treatise  of  astronomy, 
for  example,  with  a  volume  of  French  Memoir es 
pour  servir.  When  we  have  spent  our  won 
der  in  computing  this  wasteful  hospitality  with 
which  boon  nature  turns  off  new  firmaments 
without  end  into  her  wide  common,  as  fast  as 
the  madrepores  make  coral,  —  suns  and  planets 
hospitable  to  souls,  — -  and  then  shorten  the  sight 
to  look  into  this  court  of  Louis  Quatorze,  and 
17 


194     ,   THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

see  the  game  that  is  played  there,  —  duke  and 
marshal,  abbd  and  madame,  —  a  gambling  table 
where  each  is  laying  traps  for  the  other,  where 
the  end  is  ever  by  some  lie  or  fetch  to  outwit 
your  rival  and  ruin  him  with  this  solemn  fop  in 
wig  and  stars,- — the  king;  one  can  hardly  help 
asking  if  this  planet  is  a  fair  specimen  of  the  so 
generous  astronomy,  and  if  so,  whether  the  ex 
periment  have  not  failed,  and  whether  it  be 
quite  worth  while  to  make  more,  and  glut  the 
innocent  space  with  so  poor  an  article. 

I  think  we  feel  not  much  otherwise  if,  instead 
of  beholding  foolish  nations,  we  take  the  great 
and  wise  men,  the  eminent  souls,  and  narrowly 
inspect  their  biography.  None  of  them  seen  by 
himself — and  his  performance  compared  with 
his  promise  or  idea,  will  justify  the  cost  of  that 
enormous  apparatus  of  means  by  which  this 
spotted  and  defective  person  was  at  last  pro 
cured. 

To  questions  of  this  sort,  nature  replies,  '  I 
grow.'  All  is  nascent,  infant.  When  we  are 
dizzied  with  the  arithmetic  of  the  savant  toiling 
to  compute  the  length  of  her  line,  the  return  of 
her  curve,  we  are  steadied  by  the  perception  that 
a  great  deal  is  doing ;  that  all  seems  just  begun  ; 
remote  aims  are  in  active  accomplishment.  We 
can  point  nowhere  to  anything  final ;  but  ten- 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.         195 

dency  appears  on  all  hands :  planet,  system,  con 
stellation,  total  nature  is  growing  like  a  field  of 
maize  in  July  ;  is  becoming  somewhat  else ;  is 
in  rapid  metamorphosis.  The  embryo  does  not 
more  strive  to  be  man,  than  yonder  burr  of  light 
we  call  a  nebula  tends  to  be  a  ring,  a  comet,  a 
globe,  and  parent  of  new  stars.  Why  should 
not  then  these  messieurs  of  Versailles  strut  and 
plot  for  tabourets  and  ribbons,  for  a  season,  with 
out  prejudice  to  their  faculty  to  run  on  better 
errands  by  and  by. 

But  nature  seems  further  to  reply,  4 1  have 
ventured  so  great  a  stake  as  my  success,  in  no 
single  creature.  I  have  not  yet  arrived  at  any 
end.  The  gardener  aims  to  produce  a  fine  peach 
or  pear,  but  my  aim  is  the  health  of  the  whole 
tree,  —  root,  stem,  leaf,  flower,  and  seed,  —  and 
by  no  means  the  pampering  of  a  monstrous  peri 
carp  at  the  expense  of  ah1  the  other  functions.' 

In  short,  the  spirit  and  peculiarity  of  that  im 
pression  nature  makes  on  us,  is  this,  that  it  does 
not  exist  to  any  one  or  to  any  number  of  partic 
ular  ends,  but  to  numberless  and  endless  benefit ; 
that  there  is  in  it  no  private  will,  no  rebel  leaf 
or  limb,  but  the  whole  is  oppressed  by  one  su 
perincumbent  tendency,  obeys  that  redundancy 
or  excess  of  life  which  in  conscious  beings  we 
call  ecstasy. 


196        THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

With  this  conception  of  the  genius  or  method 
of  nature,  let  us  go  back  to  man.  It  is  true,  he 
pretends  to  give  account  of  himself  to  himself, 
but,  at  last,  what  has  he  to  recite  but  the  fact 
that  there  is  a  Life  not  to  be  described  or  known 
otherwise  than  by  possession  ?  What  account 
can  he  give  of  his  essence  more  than  so  it  was 
to  be  ?  The  royal  reason,  the  Grace  of  God 
seems  the  only  description  of  our  multiform  but 
ever  identical  fact.  There  is  virtue,  there  is 
genius,  there  is  success,  or  there  is  not.  There 
is  the  incoming  or  the  receding  of  God :  that  is 
all  we  can  affirm ;  and  we  can  show  neither  how 
nor  why.  Self-accusation,  remorse,  and  the  di 
dactic  morals  of  self-denial  and  strife  with  sin, 
is  a  view  we  are  constrained  by  our  constitution 
to  take  of  the  fact  seen  from  the  platform  of 
action ;  but  seen  from  the  platform  of  intellec 
tion,  there  is  nothing  for  us  but  praise  and  won 
der. 

The  termination  of  the  world  in  a  man, 
appears  to  be  the  last  victory  of  intelligence. 
The  universal  does  not  attract  us  until  housed 
in  an  individual.  Who  heeds  the  waste  abyss 
of  possibility?  The  ocean  is  everywhere  the 
same,  but  it  has  no  character  until  seen  with  the 
shore  or  the  ship.  Who  would  value  any  num 
ber  of  miles  of  Atlantic  brine  bounded  by  lines 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.         197 

of  latitude  and  longitude  ?  Confine  it  by  gran 
ite  rocks,  let  it  wash  a  shore  where  wise  men 
dwell,  and  it  is  filled  with  expression  ;  and  the 
point  of  greatest  interest  is  where  the  land  and 
water  meet.  So  must  we  admire  in  man,  the 
form  of  the  formless,  the  concentration  of  the 
vast,  the  house  of  reason,  the  cave  of  memory. 
See  the  play  of  thoughts !  what  nimble  gigantic 
creatures  are  these !  what  saurians,  what  palai- 
otheria  shall  be  named  with  these  agile  movers  ? 
The  great  Pan  of  old,  who  was  clothed  in  a 
leopard  skin  to  signify  the  beautiful  variety  of 
things  and  the  firmament,  his  coat  of  stars, — 
was  but  the  representative  of  thee,  O  rich  and 
various  Man !  thou  palace  of  sight  and  sound, 
carrying  in  thy  senses  the  morning  and  the 
night  and  the  unfathomable  galaxy ;  in  thy 
brain,  the  geometry  of  the  City  of  God ;  in  thy 
heart,  the  bower  of  love  and  the  realms  of  right 
and  wrong.  An  individual  man  is  a  fruit  which 
it  cost  all  the  foregoing  ages  to  form  and  ripen. 
The  history  of  the  genesis  or  the  old  mythology 
repeats  itself  in  the  experience  of  every  child. 
He  too  is  a  demon  or  god  thrown  into  a  particu 
lar  chaos,  where  he  strives  ever  to  lead  things 
from  disorder  into  order.  Each  individual  soul 
is  such,  in  virtue  of  its  being  a  power  to  trans 
late  the  world  into  some  particular  language  of 
17* 


198        THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

its  own;  if  not  into  a  picture,  a  statue,  or  a 
dance,  —  why,  then,  into  a  trade,  an  art,  a  sci 
ence,  a  mode  of  living,  a  conversation,  a  charac 
ter,  an  influence.  You  admire  pictures,  but  it  is 
as  impossible  for  you  to  paint  a  right  picture,  as 
for  grass  to  bear  apples.  But  when  the  genius 
comes,  it  makes  fingers  :  it  is  pliancy,  and  the 
power  of  transferring  the  affair  in  the  street  into 
oils  and  colors.  Raphael  mnst  be  born,  and 
Salvator  must  be  born. 

There  is  no  attractiveness  like  that  of  a  new 
man.  The  sleepy  nations  are  occupied  with 
their  political  routine.  England,  France  and 
America  read  Parliamentary  Debates,  which  no 
high  genius  now  enlivens  ;  and  nobody  will  read 
them  who  trusts  his  own  eye  :  only  they  who 
are  deceived  by  the  popular  repetition  of  distin 
guished  names.  But  when  Napoleon  unrolls  his 
map,  the  eye  is  commanded  by  original  power. 
When  Chatham  leads  the  debate,  men  may  well 
listen,  because  they  must  listen.  A  man,  a  per 
sonal  ascendency  is  the  only  great  phenomenon. 
When  nature  has  work  to  be  done,  she  creates  a 
.genius  to  do  it.  Follow  the  great  man,  and  you 
shall  see  what  the  world  has  at  heart  in  these 
ages.  There  is  no  omen  like  that. 

But  what  strikes  us  in  the  fine  genius  is 
that  which  belongs  of  right  to  every  one.  A 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.        199 

man  should  know  himself  for  a  necessary  actor. 
A  link  was  wanting  between  two  craving  parts 
of  nature,  and  he  was  hurled  into  being  as  the 
bridge  over  that  yawning  need,  the  mediator  be 
twixt  two  else  unmarriageable  facts.  His  two 
parents  held  each  of  one  of  the  wants,  and  the 
union  of  foreign  constitutions  in  him  enables 
him  to  do  gladly  and  gracefully  what  the  assem 
bled  human  race  could  not  have  sufficed  to  do. 
He  knows  his  materials ;  he  applies  himself  to 
his  work ;  he  cannot  read,  or  think,  or  look, 
but  he  unites  the  hitherto  separated  strands  into 
a  perfect  cord.  The  thoughts  he  delights  to 
utter  are  the  reason  of  his  incarnation  ?  Is  it  for 
him  to  account  himself  cheap  and  superfluous, 
or  to  linger  by  the  wayside  for  opportunities  ? 
Did  he  not  come  into  being  because  something 
must  be  done  which  he  and  no  other  is  and 
does  ?  If  only  he  sees,  the  world  will  be  visible 
enough.  He  need  not  study  where  to  stand, 
nor  to  put  things  in  favorable  lights  ;  in  him  is 
the  light,  from  him  all  things  are  illuminated  to 
their  centre.  What  patron  shall  he  ask  for  em 
ployment  and  reward  ?  Hereto  was  he  born,  to 
deliver  the  thought  of  his  heart  from  the  uni 
verse  to  the  universe,  to  do  .an  office  which 
nature  could  not  forego,  nor  he  be  discharged 
from  rendering,  and  then  immerge  again  into  the 


200         THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

holy  silence  and  eternity  out  of  which  as  a  man 
he  arose.  God  is  rich,  and  many  more  men  than 
one  he  harbors  in  his  bosom,  biding  their  time 
and  the  needs  and  the  beauty  of  all.  Is  not  this 
the  theory  of  every  man's  genius  or  faculty? 
Why  then  goest  thou  as  some  Boswell  or  listen 
ing  worshipper  to  this  saint  or  to  that  ?  That 
is  the  only  lese-majesty.  Here  art  thou  .with 
whom  so  long  the  universe  travailed  in  labor ; 
darest  thou  think  meanly  of  thyself  whom  the 
stalwart  Fate  brought  forth  to  unite  his  ragged 
sides,  to  shoot  the  gulf,  to  reconcile  the  irre 
concilable  ? 

Whilst  a  necessity  so  great  caused  the  man  to 
exist,  his  health  and  erectness  consist  in  the 
fidelity  with  which  he  transmits  influences  from 
the  vast  and  universal  to  the  point  on  which  his 
genius  can  act.  The  ends  are  momentary:  they 
are  vents  for  the  current  of  inward  life  which 
increases  as  it  is  spent.  A  man's  wisdom  is  to 
know  that  all  ends  are  momentary,  that  the  best 
end  must  be  superseded  by  a  better.  But  there 
is  a  mischievous  tendency  in  him  to  transfer  his 
thought  from  the  life  to  the  ends,  to  quit  his 
agency  and  rest  in  his  acts :  the  tools  runs  away 
with  the  workman,  the  human  with  the  divine. 
I  conceive  a  man  as  always  spoken  to  from  be 
hind,  and  unable  to  turn  his  head  and  see  the 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.        201 

speaker.  In  all  the  millions  who  have  heard  the 
voice,  none  ever  saw  the  face.  As  children  in 
their  play  run  behind  each  other,  and  seize  one 
by  the  ears  and  make  him  walk  before  them, 
so  is  the  spirit  our  unseen  pilot.  That  well- 
known  voice  speaks  in  all  languages,  governs  all 
men,  and  none  ever  caught  a  glimpse  of  its  form. 
If  the  man  will  exactly  obey  it,  it  will  adopt 
him.  so  that  he  shall  not  any  longer  separate  it 
from  himself  in  his  thought,  he  shall  seem  to  be 
it,  he  shall  be  it.  If  he  listen  with  insatiable 
ears,  richer  and  greater  wisdom  is  taught  him, 
the  sound  swells  to  a  ravishing  music,  he  is 
borne  away  as  with  a  flood,  he  becomes  careless 
of  his  food  and  of  his  house,  he  is  the  fool  of 
ideas,  and  leads  a  heavenly  life.  But  if  his  eye 
is  set  on  the  things  to  be  done,  and  not  on  the 
truth  that  is  still  taught,  and  for  the  sake  of 
whicli  the  things  are  to  be  done,  then  the  voice 
grows  faint,  and  at  last  is  but  a  humming  in  his 
ears.  His  health  and  greatness  consist  in  his 
being  the  channel  through  which  heaven  flows 
to  earth,  in  short,  in  the  fulness  in  which  an 
ecstatical  state  takes  place- in  him.  It  is  pitiful 
to  be  an  artist,  when,  by  forbearing  to  be  artists, 
we  might  be  vessels  filled  with  the  divine  over 
flowings,  enriched  by  the  circulations  of  omnis 
cience  and  omnipresence.  Are  there  not  moments 


202        THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

in  the  history  of  heaven  when  the  human  race 
was  not  counted  by  individuals,  but  was  only 
the  Influenced,  was  God  in  distribution,  God 
rushing  into  multiform  benefit  ?  It  is  sublime 
to  receive,  sublime  to  love,  but  this  lust  of  im 
parting  as  from  us,  this  desire  to  be  loved,  the 
wish  to  be  recognized  as  individuals,  —  is  finite, 
comes  of  a  lower  strain. 

Shall  I  say,  then,  that,  as  far  as  we  can  trace 
the  natural  history  of  the  soul,  its  health  consists 
in  the  fulness  of  its  reception,  —  call  it  piety, 
call  it  veneration  —  in  the  fact,  that  enthusiasm 
is  organized  therein.  What  is  best  in  any  work 
of  art,  but  that  part  which  the  work  itself  seems 
to  require  and  do ;  that  which  the  man  cannot 
do  again,  that  which  flows  from  the  hour  and 
the  occasion,  like  the  eloquence  of  men  in  a  tu 
multuous  debate  ?  It  was  always  the  theory  of 
literature,  that  the  word  of  a  poet  was  authorita 
tive  and  final.  He  was  supposed  to  be  the  mouth 
of  a  divine  wisdom.  We  rather  envied  his  cir 
cumstance  than  his  talent.  We  too  could  have 
gladly  prophesied  standing  in  that  place.  We  so 
quote  our  Scriptures  ;  and  the  Greeks  so  quoted 
Homer,  Theognis,  Pindar,  and  the  rest.  If  the 
theory  has  receded  out  of  modern  criticism,  it  is 
because  we  have  not  had  poets.  Whenever  they 
appear,  they  will  redeem  their  own  credit. 


METHOD    OF   NATURE.  203 


This  ecstatical  state  seems  to  direct  a  regard 
to  the  whole  and  not  to  the  parts  ;  to  the  cause 
and  not  to  the  ends;  to  the  tendency,  and  not 
to  the  act.  It  respects  genius  and  not  talent  ; 
hope,  and  not  possession  :  the  anticipation  of  all 
things  by  the  intellect,  and  not  the  history  itself; 
art,  and  not  works  of  art  ;  poetry,  and  not  experi 
ment  ;  virtue,  and  no't  duties. 

There  is  no  office  or  function  of  man  but  is 
rightly  discharged  by  this  divine  method,  and 
nothing  that  is  not  noxious  to  him  if  detached 
from  its  universal  relations.  Is  'it  his  work  in 
the  world  to  study  nature,  or  the  laws  of  the 
world  ?  Let  him  beware  of  proposing  to  himself 
any  end.  Is  it  for  use  ?  nature  is  debased,  as  if 
one  looking  at  the  ocean  can  remember  only  the 
price  of  fish.  Or  is  it  for  pleasure  ?  he  is  mocked  : 
there  is  a  certain  infatuating  air  in  woods  and 
mountains  which  draws  on  the  idler  to  want  and 
misery.  There  is  something  social  and  intrusive 
in  the  nature  of  all  things  ;  they  seek  to  pene 
trate  and  overpower,  each  the  nature  of  every 
other  creature,  and  itself  alone  in  all  modes  and 
throughout  space  and  spirit  to  prevail  and  pos 
sess.  Every  star  in  heaven  is  discontented  and 
insatiable.  Gravitation  and  chemistry  cannot 
content  them.  Ever  they  woo  and  court  the 
eye  of  every  beholder.  Every  man  who  comes 


204        THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

into  the  world  they  seek  to  fascinate  and  possess, 
to  pass  into  his  mind,  for  they  desire  to  republish 
themselves  in  a  more  delicate  world  than  that 
they  occupy,  It  is  not  enough  that  they  are 
Jove,  Mars,  Orion,  and  the  North  Star,  in  the 
gravitating  firmament:  they  would  have  such 
poets  as  Newton,  Herschel  and  Laplace,  that 
they  may  re-exist  and  re-appear  in  the  finer  world 
of  rational  souls,  and  fill  that  realm  with  their 
fame.  So  is  it  with  all  immaterial  objects. 
These  beautiful  basilisks  set  their  brute,  glori 
ous  eyes  on  the  eye  of  every  child,  and,  if  they 
can,  cause  their  nature  to  pass  through  his  won 
dering  eyes  into  him,  and  so  all  things  are  mixed. 
Therefore  man  must  be  on  his  guard  against 
this  cup  of  enchantments,  and  must  look  at  na 
ture  with  a  supernatural  eye.  By  piety  alone, 
by  conversing  with  the  cause  of  nature,  is  he 
safe  and  commands  it.  And  because  all  knowl 
edge  is  assimilation  to  the  object  of  knowledge, 
as  the  power  or  genius  of  nature  is  ecstatic,  so 
must  its  science  or  the  description  of  it  be.  The 
poet  must  be  a  rhapsodist :  his  inspiration  a  sort 
of  bright  casualty :  his  will  in  it  only  the  surren 
der  of  will  to  the  Universal  Power,  which  will 
not  be  seen  face  to  face,  but  must  be  received 
and  sympathetically  known.  It  is  remarkable 
that  we  have  out  of  the  deeps  of  antiquity  in  the 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATUKE.         205 

oracles  ascribed  to  the  half  fabulous  Zoroaster,  a 
statement  of  this  fact,  which  every  lover  and 
seeker  of  truth  will  recognize.  "  It  is  not  pro 
per,"  said  Zoroaster,  "  to  understand  the  Intelli 
gible  with  vehemence,  but  if  you  incline  your 
mind,  you  will  apprehend  it :  not  too  earnestly, 
but  bringing  a  pure  and  inquiring  eye.  You 
will  not  understand  it  as  when  understanding 
some  particular  thing,  but  with  the  flower  of  the 
mind.  Things  divine  are  not  attainable  by  mor 
tals  who  understand  sensual  things,  but  only  the 
light-armed  arrive  at  the  summit." 

And  because  ecstasy  is  the  law  and  cause  of 
nature,  therefore  you  cannot  interpret  it  in  too 
high  and  deep  a  sense.  Nature  represents  the 
best  meaning  of  the  wisest  man.  Does  the  sun 
set  landscape  seem  to  you  the  place  of  Friend 
ship,  —  those  purple  skies  and  lovely  waters  the 
amphitheatre  dressed  and  garnished  only  for  the 
exchange  of  thought  and  love  of  the  purest  souls  ? 
It  is  that.  All  other  meanings  which  base  men 
have  put  on  it  are  conjectural  and  false.  You 
cannot  bathe  twice  in  the  same  river,  said  Herac- 
litus ;  and  I  add,  a  man  never  sees  the  same 
object  twice :  with  his  own  enlargement  the 
object  acquires  new  aspects. 

'Does  not  the  same  law  hold  for  virtue  ?  It  is 
vitiated  by  too  much  will.  He  who  aims  at 
18 


206         THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

progress,  should  aim  at  an  infinite,  not  at  a  spe 
cial  benefit.  The  reforms  whose  fame  now  fills 
the  land  with  Temperance,  Anti- Slavery,  Non- 
Resistance,  No  Government,  Equal  Labor,  fair 
and  generous  as  each  appears,  are  poor  bitter 
things  when  prosecuted  for  themselves  as  an  end. 
To  every  reform,  in  proportion  to  its  energy, 
early  disgusts  are  incident,  so  that  the  disciple  is 
surprised  at  the  very  hour  of  his  first  triumphs, 
with  chagrins,  and  sickness,  and  a  general  dis 
trust  :  so  that  he  shuns  his  associates,  hates  the 
enterprise  which  lately  seemed  so  fair,  and  medi 
tates  to  cast  himself  into  the  arms  of  that  society 
and  manner  of  life  which  he  had  newly  aban 
doned  with  so  much  pride  and  hope.  Is  it  that 
he  attached  the  value  of  virtue  to  some  particular 
practices,  as,  the  denial  of  certain  appetites  in 
certain  specified  indulgences,  and,  afterward, 
found  himself  still  as  wicked  and  as  far  from 
happiness  in  that  abstinence,  as  he  had  been  in 
the  abuse  ?  But  the  soul  can  be  appeased  not  by 
a  deed  but  by  a  tendency.  It  is  in  a  hope  that 
she  feels  her  wings.  You  shall  love  rectitude 
and  not  the  disuse  of  money  or  the  avoidance  of 
trade :  an  unimpeded  mind,  and  not  a  monkish 
diet ;  sympathy  and  usefulness,  and  not  hoeing 
or  coopering.  Tell  me  not  how  great  your 
project  is,  the  civil  liberation  of  the  world,  its 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.         207 

conversion  into  a  Christian  church,  the  estab 
lishment  of  public  education,  cleaner  diet,  a  new 
division  of  labor  and  of  land,  laws  of  love  for 
laws  of  property; —  I  say  to  you  plainly  there  is 
no  end  to  which  your  practical  faculty  can  aim, 
so  sacred  or  so  large,  that,  if  pursued  for  itself, 
will  not  at  last  become  carrion  and  an  offence  to 
the  nostril.  The  imaginative  faculty  of  the  soul 
must  be  fed  with  objects  immense  and  eternal. 
Your  end  should  be  one  inapprehensible  to  the 
senses  ;  then  will  it  be  a  god  always  approached, 
—  never  touched;  always  giving  health.  A 
man  adorns  himself  with  prayer  and  love,  as  an 
aim  adorns  an  action.  What  is  strong  but  good 
ness,  and  what  is  energetic  but  the  presence  of  a 
brave  man  ?  The  doctrine  in  vegetable  physi 
ology  of  the  presence,  or  the  general  influence  of 
any  substance  over  and  above  its  chemical  influ 
ence,  as  of  an  alkali  or  a  living  plant,  is  more 
predicable  of  man.  You  need  not  speak  to  me, 
I  need  not  go  where  you  are,  that  you  should 
exert  magnetism  on  me.  Be  you  only  whole 
and  sufficient,  and  I  shall  feel  you  in  every 
part  of  my  life  and  fortune,  and  I  can  as  easily 
dodge  the  gravitation  of  the  globe  as.  escape 
your  influence. 

But  there  are  other  examples  of  this  total  and 
supreme  influence,  besides  Nature  and  the  con- 


208        THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

science.  "  From  the  poisonous  tree,  the  world," 
say  the  Brahmins,  "  two  species  of  fruit  are  pro 
duced,  sweet  as  the  waters  of  life,  Love  or  the 
society  of  beautiful  souls,  and  Poetry,  whose 
taste  is  like  the  immortal  juice  of  Vishnu."  What 
is  Love,  and  why  is  it  the  chief  good,  but  be 
cause  it  is  an  overpowering  enthusiasm  ?  Never 
self-possessed  or  prudent,  it  is  all  abandonment. 
Is  it  not  a  certain  admirable  wisdom,  preferable 
to  all  other  advantages,  and  whereof  all  others 
are  only  secondaries  and  indemnities,  because 
this  is  that  in  which  the  individual  is  no  longer 
his  own  foolish  master,  but  inhales  an  odorous 
and  celestial  air,  is  wrapped  round  with  awe  of 
the  object,  blending  for  the  time  that  object 
with  the  real  and  only  good,  and  consults  every 
omen  in  nature  with  tremulous  interest.  When 
we  speak  truly,  —  is  not  he  only  unhappy  who  is 
not  in  love  ?  his  fancied  freedom  and  self-rule  — 
is  it  not  so  much  death  ?  He  who  is  in  love  is 
wise  and  is  becoming  wiser,  sees  newly  every 
time  he  looks  at  the  object  beloved,  drawing 
from  it  with  his  eyes  and  his  mind  those  virtues 
which  it  possesses.  Therefore  if  the  object  be 
not  itself  a  living  and  expanding  soul,  he  pres 
ently  exhausts  it.  But  the  love  remains  in  his 
mind,  and  the  wisdom  it  brought  him ;  and  it 
craves  a  new  and  higher  object.  And  the  reason 


THE   METHOD    OF  NATTJBE.  209 

vhy  all  men  honor  love,  is  because  it  looks  up 
and  not  down ;  aspires  and  not  despairs. 

And  what  is  Genius  but  finer  love,  a  love 
impersonal,  a  love  of  the  flower  and  perfection 
of  things,  and  a  desire  to  draw  a  new  picture  or 
copy  of  the  same  ?  It  looks  to  the  cause  and 
life  :  it  proceeds  from  within  outward,  whilst 
Talent  goes  from  without  inward.  Talent  finds 
its  models,  methods,  and  ends,  in  society,  exists 
for  exhibition,  and  goes  to  the  soul  only  for 
power  to  work.  Genius  is  its  own  end,  and 
draws  its  means  and  the  style  of  its  architecture 
from  within,  going  abroad  only  for  audience, 
and  spectator,  as  we  adapt  our  voice  and  phrase 
to  the  distance  and  character  of  the  ear  we  speak 
to.  All  your  learning  of  all  literatures  would 
never  enable  you  to  anticipate  one  of  its  thoughts 
or  expressions,  and  yet  each  is  natural  and  fami 
liar  as  household  words.  Here  about  us  coils 
forever  the  ancient  enigma,  so  old  and  so  unut 
terable.  Behold  !  there  is  the  sun,  and  the  rain, 
and  the  rocks  :  the  old  sun,  the  old  stones.  How 
easy  were  it  to  describe  all  this  fitly;  yet  no 
word  can  pass.  Nature  is  a  mute,  and  man, 
her  articulate  speaking  brother,  lo !  he  also  is  a 
mute.  Yet  when  Genius  arrives,  its  speech  is 
like  a  river ;  it  has  no  straining  to  describe,  more 
than  there  is  straining  in  nature  to  exist.  When 
18* 


210  THE   METHOD    OF  'NATURE. 

thought  is  best,  there  is  most  of  it.  Genius 
sheds  wisdom  like  perfume,  and  advertises  us 
that  it  flows  out  of  a  deeper  source  than  the 
foregoing  silence,  that  it  knows  so  deeply  and 
speaks  so  musically,  because  it  is  itself  a  muta 
tion  of  the  thing  it  describes.  It  is  sun  and 
moon  and  wave  and  fire  in  music,  as  astronomy 
is  thought  and  harmony  in  masses  of  matter. 

What  is  all  history  but  the  work  of  ideas,  a 
record  of  the  incomputable  energy  which  his 
infinite  aspirations  infuse  into  man  ?  Has  any 
thing  grand  and  lasting  been  done  ?  Who  did 
it  ?  Plainly  not  any  man,  but  all  men  :  it  was 
the  prevalence  and  inundation  of  an  idea.  What 
brought  the  pilgrims  here  ?  One  man  says, 
civil  liberty ;  another,  the  desire  of  founding  a 
church ;  and  a  third,  discovers  that  the  motive 
force  was  plantation  and  trade.  But  if  the  Puri 
tans  could  rise  from  the  dust,  they  could  not 
answer.  It  is  to  be  seen  in  what  they  were,  and 
not  in  what  they  designed ;  it  was  the  growth 
and  expansion  of  the  human  race,  and  resembled 
herein  the  sequent  Revolution,  which  was  not 
begun  in  Concord,  or  Lexington,  or  Virginia,  but 
was  the  overflowing  of  the  sense  of  natural  right 
in  every  clear  and  active  spirit  of  the  period.  Is 
a  man  boastful  and  knowing,  and  his  own  mas 
ter  ?  —  we  turn  from  him  without  hope  :  but  let 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.        211 

him  be  filled  with  awe  and  dread  before  the  Vast 
and  the  Divine,  which  uses  him  glad  to  be  used, 
and  our  eye  is  riveted  to  the  chain  of  events. 
What  a  debt  is  ours  to  that  old  religion  which, 
in  the  childhood  of  most  of  us,  still  dwelt  like  a, 
sabbath  morning  in  the  country  of  New  England, 
teaching  privation,  self-denial  and  sorrow!  A 
man  was  born  not  for  prosperity,  but  to  suffer  for 
the  benefit  of  others,  like  the  noble  rock-maple 
which  all  around  our  villages  bleeds  for  the  ser 
vice  of  man.  Not  praise,  not  men's  acceptance 
of  our  doing,  but  the  spirit's  holy  errand  through 
us  absorbed  the  thought.  How  dignified  was 
this  !  How  all  that  is  called  talents  and  success, 
in  our  noisy  capitals,  becomes  buzz  and  din  before 
this  man-worthiness!  How  our  friendships  and 
the  complaisances  we  use,  shame  us  now !'  Shall 
we  not  quit  our  companions,  as  if  they  were 
thieves  and  pot-companions,  and  betake  our 
selves  to  some  desert  cliff  of  mount  Katahdin, 
some  unvisited  recess  in  Moosehead  Lake,  to 
bewail  our  innocency  and  to  recover  it,  and  with 
it  the  power  to  communicate  again  with  these 
sharers  of  a  more  sacred  idea  ? 

And  what  is  to  replace  for  us  the  piety  of 
that  race  ?  We  cannot  have  theirs :  it  glides 
away  from  us  day  by  day,  but  we  also  can  bask 
in  the  great  morning  which  rises  forever  out  of 


212        THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

the  eastern  sea,  and  be  ourselves  the  children  of 
the  light.  I  stand  here  to  say,  Let  us  worship 
the  mighty  and  transcendent  Soul.  It  is  the 
office,  I  doubt  not,  of  this  age  to  annul  that  adul 
terous  divorce  which  the  superstition  of  many 
ages  has  effected  between  the  intellect  and  holi 
ness.  The  lovers  of  goodness  have  been  one 
class,  the  students  of  wisdom  another,  as  if  either 
could  exist  in  any  purity  without  the  other. 
Truth  is  always  holy,  holiness  always  wise.  I 
will  that  we  keep  terms  with  sin,  and  a  sinful 
literature  and  society,  no  longer,  but  live  a  life  of 
discovery  and  performance.  Accept  the  intellect, 
and  it  will  accept  us.  Be  the  lowly  ministers  of 
that  pure  omniscience,  and  deny  it  not  before 
men.  It  will  burn  up  all  profane  literature,  all 
base  current  opinions,  all  the  false  powers  of  the 
world,  as  in  a  moment  of  time.  I  draw  from 
nature  the  lesson  of  an  intimate  divinity.  Our 
health  and  reason  as  men  needs  our  respect  to 
this  fact,  against  the  heedlessness  and  against  the 
contradiction  of  society.  The  sanity  of  man 
needs  the  poise  of  this  immanent  force.  His 
nobility  needs  the  assurance  of  this  inexhaustible 
reserved  power.  How  great  soever  have  been 
its  bounties,  they  are  a  drop  to  the  sea  whence 
they  flow.  If  you  say,  *  the  acceptance  of  the 
vision  is  also  the  act  of  God: '  —  I  shall  not  seek 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.        213 

to  penetrate  the  mystery,  I  admit  the  force  of 
what  you  say.  If  you  ask,  '  How  can  any  rules 
be  given  for  the  attainment  of  gifts  so  sublime  ?  ' 
I  shall  only  remark  that  the  solicitations  of  this 
spirit,  as  long  as  there  is  life,  are  never  forborne. 
Tenderly,  tenderly,  they  woo  and  court  us  from 
every  object  in  nature,  from  every  fact  in  life, 
from  every  thought  in  the  mind.  The  one  con 
dition  coupled  with  the  gift  of  truth  is  its  use. 
That  man  shall  be  learned  who  reduceth  his 
learning  to  practice.  Emanuel  Swedenborg  af 
firmed  that  it  was  opened  to  him,  "  that  the 
spirits  who  knew  truth  in  this  life,  but  did  it  not, 
at  death  shall  lose  their  knowledge."  "  If  knowl 
edge,"  said  All  the  Caliph,  "  calleth  unto  practice, 
well ;  if  not,  it  goeth  away."  The  only  way 
into  nature  is  to  enact  our  best  insight.  Instantly 
we  are  higher  poets,  and  can  speak  a  deeper  law. 
Do  what  you  know,  and  perception  is  converted 
into  character,  as  islands  and  continents  were 
built  by  invisible  infusories,  or,  as  these  forest 
leaves  absorb  light,  electricity,  and  volatile  gases, 
and  the  gnarled  oak  to  live  a  thousand  years  is 
the  arrest  and  fixation  of  the  most  volatile  and 
ethereal  currents.  The  doctrine  of  this  Supreme 
Presence  is  a  cry  of  joy  and  exultation.  Who 
shall  dare  think  he  has  come  late  into  nature,  or 
has  missed  anything  excellent  in  the  past,  who 


214        THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE. 

seeth  the  admirable  stars  of  possibility,  and  the 
yet  untouched  continent  of  hope  glittering  with 
all  its  mountains  in  the  vast  West  ?  I  praise 
with  wonder  this  great  reality,  which  seems  to 
drown  all  things  in  the  deluge  of  its  light.  What 
man  seeing  this,  can  lose  it  from  his  thoughts, 
or  entertain  a  meaner  subject  ?  The  entrance  of 
this  into  his  mind  seems  to  be  the  birth  of  man. 
We  cannot  describe  the  natural  history  of  the 
soul,  but  we  know  that  it  is  divine.  I  cannot 
tell  if  these  wonderful  qualities  which  house  to 
day  in  this  mortal  frame,  shall  ever  re-assemble 
in  equal  activity  in  a  similar  frame,  or  whether 
they  have  before  had  a  natural  history  like  that 
of  this  body  you  see  before  you ;  but  this  one 
thing  I  know,  that  these  qualities  did  not  now 
begin  to  exist,  cannot  be  sick  with  my  sickness, 
nor  buried  in  any  grave  ;  but  that  they  circulate 
through  the  Universe :  before  the  world  was, 
they  were.  Nothing  can  bar  them  out,  or  shut 
them  in,  but  they  penetrate  the  ocean  and  land, 
space  and  time,  form  and  essence,  and  hold  the 
key  to  universal  nature.  I  draw  from  this  faith 
courage  and  hope.  All  things  are  known  to  the 
soul.  It  is  not  to  be  surprised  by  any  communi 
cation.  Nothing  can  be  greater  than  it.  Let  those 
fear  and  those  fawn  who  will.  The  soul  is  in  her 
native  realm,  and  it  is  wider  than  space,  older 


THE  METHOD  OF  NATURE.         215 

than  time,  wide  as  hope,  rich  as  love.  Pusillani 
mity  and  fear  she  refuses  with  a  beautiful  scorn  . 
they  are  not  for  her  who  putteth  on  her  corona 
tion  robes,  and  goes  out  through  universal  love 
to  universal  power. 


MAN    THE    REFORMER. 

A    LECTURE    READ     BEFORE     THE    MECHANICS*   APPRENTICES' 
LIBRARY  ASSOCIATION,   BOSTON,   JANUARY    25,    1841. 


MAN   THE    REFORMER. 


MR.  PRESIDENT,  AND  GENTLEMEN, 

I  WISH  to  offer  to  your  consideration  some 
thoughts  on  the  particular  and  general  relations 
of  man  as  a  reformer.  I  shall  assume  that  the 
aim  of  each  young  man  in  this  association  is 
the  very  highest  that  belongs  to  a  rational  mind. 
Let  it  be  granted,  that  our  life,  as  we  lead  it,  is 
common  and  mean ;  that  some  of  those  offices 
and  functions  for  which  we  were  mainly  created 
are  grown  so  rare  in  society,  that  the  memory  of 
them  is  only  kept  alive  in  old  books  and  in  dim 
traditions  ;  that  prophets  and  poets,  that  beauti 
ful  and  perfect  men,  we  are  not  now,  no,  nor 
have  even  seen  such  ;  that  some  sources  of  hu 
man  instruction  are  almost  unnamed  and  un 
known  among  us  ;  that  the  community  in  which 
we  live  will  hardly  bear  to  be  told  that  every 


220  MAN   THE  REFORMER. 

man  should  be  open  to  ecstasy  .or  a  divine  illu 
mination,  and  his  daily  walk  elevated  by  inter 
course  with  the  spiritual  world.  Grant  all  this, 
as  we  must,  yet  I  suppose  none  of  my  auditors 
will  deny  that  we  ought  to  seek  to  establish 
ourselves  in  such  disciplines  and  courses  as  will 
deserve  that  guidance  and  clearer  communica 
tion  with  the  spiritual  nature.  And  further,  I 
will  not  dissemble  my  hope,  that  each  person 
whom  I  address  has  felt  his  own  call  to  cast 
aside  all  evil  customs,  timidities,  and  limitations, 
and  to  be  in  his  place  a  free  and  helpful  man,  a 
reformer,  a  benefactor,  not  content  to  slip  along 
through  the  world  like  a  footman  or  a  spy, 
escaping  by  his  nimbleness  and  apologies  as 
many  knocks  as  he  can,  but  a  brave  and  up 
right  man,  who  must  find  or  cut  a  straight 
road  to  everything  excellent  in  the  earth,  and 
not  only  go  honorably  himself,  but  make  it 
easier  for  all  who  follow  him,  to  go  in  honor 
and  with  benefit. 

In  the  history  of  the  world  the  doctrine  of 
Reform  had  never  such  scope  as  at  the  present 
hour.  Lutherans,  Hernhutters,  Jesuits,  Monks, 
Quakers,  Knox,  Wesley,  Swedenborg,  Bentham, 
in  their  accusations  of  society,  all  respected 
something,  —  church  or  state,  literature  or  his 
tory,  domestic  usages,  the  market  town,  the 


MAN   THE   REFORMER.  221 

dinner  table,  coined  money.  But  now  all  these 
and  all  things  else  hear  the  trumpet,  and  must 
rush  to  judgment, —  Christianity,  the  laws,  com 
merce,  schools,  the  farm,  the  laboratory ;  and  not 
a  kingdom,  town,  statute,  rite,  calling,  man,  or 
woman,  but  is  threatened  by  the  new  spirit. 

What  if  some  of  the  objections  whereby 
our  institutions  are  assailed  are  extreme  and 
speculative,  an4  the  reformers  tend  to  ideal 
ism;  that  only  shows  the  extravagance  of  the 
abuses  which  have  driven  the  mind  into  the 
opposite  extreme.  It  is  when  your  facts  and 
persons  grow  unreal  and  fantastic  by  too  much 
falsehood,  that  the  scholar  flies  for  refuge  to  the 
world  of  ideas,  and  aims  to  recruit  and  replenish 
nature  from,  that  source.  Let  ideas  establish 
their  legitimate  sway  again  in  society,  let  life  be 
fair  and  poetic,  and  the  scholars  will  gladly  be 
lovers,  citizens,  and  philanthropists. 

It  will  afford  no  security  from  the  new  ideas, 
that  the  old  nations,  the  laws  of  centuries,  the 
property  and  institutions  of  a  hundred  cities, 
are  built  on  other  foundations.  The  demon  of 
reform  has  a  secret  door  into  the  heart  of  every 
lawmaker,  of  every  inhabitant  of  every  city. 
The  fact,  that  a  new  thought  and  hope  have 
dawned  in  your  breasts,  should  apprize  you  that 
in  the  same  hour  a  new  light  broke  in  upon  a 
19* 


222  MAN  THE  REFORMER. 

thousand  private  hearts.  That  secret  which  you* 
would  fain  keep,  —  as  soon  as  you  go  abroad,  lo ! 
there  is  one  standing  on  the  doorstep,  to  tell  you 
the  same.  There  is  not  the  most  bronzed  and 
sharpened  money-catcher,  who  does  not,  to  your 
consternation,  almost,  quail  and  shake  the  mo 
ment  he  hears  a  question  prompted  by  the  new 
ideas.  We  thought  he  had  some  semblance  of 
ground  to  stand  upon,  that  such  as  he  at  least 
would  die  hard  ;  but  he  trembles  and  flees.  Then 
the  scholar  says,  '  Cities  and  coaches  shall  never 
impose  on  me  again  ;  for,  behold  every  solitary 
dream  of  mine  is  rushing  to  fulfilment.  That 
fancy  I  had,  and  hesitated  to  utter  because  you 
would  laugh,  —  the  broker,  the  attorney,  the 
market-man  are  saying  the  same  thing.  Had  I 
waited  a  day  longer  to  speak,  I  had  been  too 
late.  Behold,  State  Street  thinks,  and  Wall 
Street  doubts,  and  begins  to  prophecy  ! ' 

It  cannot  be  wondered  at,  that  this  general 
inquest  into  abuses  should  arise  in  the  bosom  of 
society,  when  one  considers  the  practical  impedi 
ments  that  stand  in  the  way  of  virtuous  young 
men.  The  young  man,  on  entering  life,  finds 
the  way  to  lucrative  employments  blocked  with 
abuses.  The  ways  of  trade  are  grown  selfish  to 
the  borders  of  theft,  and  supple  to  the  borders  (if 
not  beyond  the  borders)  of  fraud.  The  employ- 


MAN   THE   REFORMER.  223 

ments  of  commerce  are  not  intrinsically  unfit  for 
a  man,  or  less  genial  to  his  faculties,  but  these 
are  now  in  their  general  course  so  vitiated  by 
derelictions  and  abuses  at  which  all  connive, 
that  it  requires  more  vigor  and  resources  than 
can  be  expected  of  every  young  man,  to  right 
himself  in  them ;  he  is  lost  in  them ;  he  cannot 
move  hand  or  foot  in  them.  Has  he  genius  and 
virtue  ?  the  less  does  he  find  them  fit  for  him 
to  grow  in,  and  if  he  would  thrive  in  them,  he 
must  sacrifice  all  the  brilliant  dreams  of  boyhood 
and  youth  as  dreams  ;  he  must  forget  the  pray 
ers  of  his  childhood  ;  and  must  take  on  him  the 
harness  of  routine  and  obsequiousness.  If  not 
so  minded,  nothing  is  left  him  but  to  begin  the 
world  anew,  as  he  does  who  puts  the  spade  into 
the  ground  for  food.  We  are  all  implicated,  of 
course,  in  this  charge  ;  it  is  only  necessary  to 
ask  a  few  questions  as  to  the  progress  of  the 
articles  of  commerce  from  the  fields  where  they 
grew,  to  our  houses,  to  become  aware  that  we 
eat  and  drink  and  wear  perjury  and  fraud  in  a 
hundred  commodities.  How  many  articles  of 
daily  consumption  are  furnished  us  from  the 
West  Indies ;  yet  it  is  said,  that,  in  the  Spanish 
islands,  the  venality  of  the  officers  of  the  gov 
ernment  has  passed  into  usage,  and  that  no  arti 
cle  passes  into  our  ships  which  has  not  been 


224  MAN   THE   REFORMER. 

fraudulently  cheapened.  In  the  Spanish  islands, 
every  agent  or  factor  of  the  Americans,  unless 
he  be  a  consul,  has  taken  oath  that  he  is  a  Cath 
olic,  or  has  caused  a  priest  to  make  that  declara 
tion  for  him.  The  abolitionist  has  shown  us 
our  dreadful  debt  to  the  southern  negro.  In 
the  island  of  Cuba,  in  addition  to  the  ordinary 
abominations  of  slavery,  it  appears,  only  men 
are  bought  for  the  plantations,  and  one  dies  in  ten 
every  year,  of  these  miserable  bachelors,  to  yield 
us  sugar.  I  leave  for  those  who  have  the  knowl 
edge  the  part  of  sifting  the  oaths  of  our  custom 
houses  ;  I  will  not  inquire  into  the  oppression  of 
the  sailors ;  I  will  not  pry  into  the  usages  of  our 
retail  trade.  I  content  myself  with  the  fact, 
that  the  general  system  of  our  trade,  (apart  from 
the  blacker  traits,  'which,  I  hope,  are  exceptions 
denounced  and  unshared  by  all  reputable  men,) 
is  a  system  of  selfishness  ;  is  not  dictated  by  the 
high  sentiments  of  human  nature ;  is  not  mea 
sured  by  the  exact  law  of  reciprocity  ;  much  less 
by  the  sentiments  of  love  and  heroism,  but  is  a 
system  of  distrust,  of  concealment,  of  superior 
keenness,  not  of  giving  but  of  taking  advantage. 
It  is  not  that  which  a  man  delights  to  unlock 
to  a  noble  friend  ;  which  he  meditates  on  with 
joy  and  self-approval  in  his  hour  of  love  and 
aspiration  ;  but  rather  what  he  then  puts  out  of 


MAN   THE   REFORMER.  225 

sight,  only  showing  the  brilliant  result,  and 
atoning  for  the  manner  of  acquiring,  by  the  man 
ner  of  expending  it.  I  do  not  charge  the  mer 
chant  or  the  manufacturer.  The  sins  of  our 
trade  belong  to  no  class,  to  no  individual.  One 
plucks,  one  distributes,  one  eats.  Every  body 
partakes,  every  body  confesses,  —  with  cap  and 
knee  volunteers  his  confession,  yet  none  feels 
himself  accountable.  He  did  not  create  the 
abuse  ;  he  cannot  alter  it.  What  is  he  ?  an  ob 
scure  private  person  who  must  get  his  bread. 
That  is  the  vice,  —  that  no  one  feels  himself 
called  to  act  for  man,  but  only  as  a  fraction  of 
man.  It  happens  therefore  that  all  such  ingen 
uous  souls  as  feel  within  themselves  the  irrepres 
sible  strivings  of  a  noble  aim,  who  by  the  law 
of  their  nature  must  act  simply,  find  these  ways 
of  trade  unfit  for  them,  and  they  come  forth 
from  it.  Such  cases  are  becoming  more  numer 
ous  every  year. 

But  by  coming  out  of  trade  you  have  not 
cleared  yourself.  The  trail  of  the  serpent 
reaches  into  all  the  lucrative  professions  and 
practices  of  man.  Each  has  it  own  wrongs. 
Each  finds  a  tender  and  very  intelligent  con 
science  a  disqualification  for  success.  Each 
requires  of  the  practitioner  a  certain  shutting  of 
the  eyes,  a  certain  dapperness  and  compliance, 


226  MAN  THE   REFORMER. 

an  acceptance  of  customs,  a  sequestration  from 
the  sentiments  of  generosity  and  love,  a  com 
promise  of  private  opinion  and  lofty  integrity. 
Nay,  the  evil  custom  reaches  into  the  whole  in 
stitution  of  property,  until  our  laws  which  estab 
lish  and  protect  it,  seem  not  to  be  the  issue  of  love 
and  reason,  but  of  selfishness.  Suppose  a  man 
is  so  unhappy  as  to  be  born  a  saint,  with  keen 
perceptions,  but  with  the  conscience  and  love  of 
an  angel,  and  he  is  to  get  his  living  in  the  world  ; 
he  finds  himself  excluded  from  all  lucrative 
works  ;  he  has  no  farm,  and  he  cannot  get  one ; 
for,  to  earn  money  enough  to  buy  one,  requires 
a  sort  of  concentration  toward  money,  which  is 
the  selling  himself  for  a  number  of  years,  and  to 
him  the  present  hour  is  as  sacred  and  inviolable 
as  any  future  hour.  Of  course,  whilst  another 
man  has  no  land,  my  title,  to  mine,  your  title  to 
yours,  is  at  once  vitiated.  Inextricable  seem  to 
be  the  twinings  and  tendrils  of  this  evil,  and  we 
all  involve  ourselves  in  it  the  deeper  by  forming 
connections,  by  wives  and  children,  by  benefits 
and  debts. 

Considerations  of  this  kind  have  turned  the 
attention  of  many  philanthropic  and  intelligent 
persons  to  the  claims  of  manual  labor,  as  a  part 
of  the  education  of  every  young  man.  If  the 
accumulated  wealth  of  the  past  generation  is 


MAN   THE   REFORMER.  227 

thus  tainted,  —  no  matter  how  much  of  it  is 
offered  to  us,  —  we  must  begin  to  consider  if  it 
were  not  the  nobler  part  to  renounce  it,  and 
to  put  ourselves  into  primary  relations  with  the 
soil  and  nature,  and  abstaining  from  whatever  is 
dishonest  and  unclean,  to  take  each  of  us  bravely 
his  part,  with  his  own  hands,  in  the  manual 
labor  of  the  world. 

But  it  is  said,  <  What !  will  you  give  up  the 
immense  advantages  reaped  from  the  division  of 
labor,  and  set  every  man  to  make  his  own  shoes, 
bureau,  knife,  wagon,  sails,  and  needle  ?  This 
would  be  to  put  men  back  into  barbarism  by 
their  own  act.'  I  see  no  instant  prospect  of  a 
virtuous  revolution ;  yet  I  confess,  I  should  not 
be  pained  at  a  change  which  threatened  a  loss  of 
some  of  the  luxuries  or  conveniences  of  society, 
if  it  proceeded  from  a  preference  of  the  agricul 
tural  life  out  of  the  belief,  that  our  primary 
duties  as  men  could  be  better  discharged  in  that 
calling.  Who  could  regret  to  see  a  high  con 
science  and  a  purer  taste  exercising  a  sensible 
effect  on  young  men  in  their  choice  of  occupa 
tion,  and  thinning  the  ranks  of  competition  in 
the  labors  of  commerce,  of  law,  and  of  state  ? 
It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  inconvenience  would 
last  but  a  short  time.  This  would  be  great 
action,  which  always  opens  the  eyes  of  men. 


228  MAN   THE   REFORMER. 

"When  many  persons  shall  have  done  this,  when 
the  majority  shall  admit  the  necessity  of  reform 
in  all  these  institutions,  their  abuses  will  be 
redressed,  and  the  way  will  be  open  again  to  the 
advantages  which  arise  from  the  division  of 
labor,  and  a  man  may  select  the  fittest  employ 
ment  for  his  peculiar  talent  again,  without  com 
promise. 

But  quite  apart  from  the  emphasis  which  the 
times  give  to  the  doctrine,  that  the  manual  labor 
of  society  ought  to  be  shared  among  all  the 
members,  there  are  reasons  proper  to  every  indi 
vidual,  why  he  should  not  be  deprived  of  it. 
The  use  of  manual  labor  is  one  which  never 
grows  obsolete,  and  which  is  inapplicable  to  no 
person.  A  man  should  have  a  farm  or  a  mechan 
ical  craft  for  his  culture.  We  must  have  a  basis 
for  our  higher  accomplishments,  our  delicate 
entertainments  of  poetry  and  philosophy,  in  the 
work  of  our  hands..  We  must  have  an  antag 
onism  in  the  tough  world  for  all  the  variety  of 
our  spiritual  faculties,  or  they  will  not  be  born. 
Manual  labor  is  the  study  of  the  external  world. 
The  advantage  of  riches  remains  with  him  who 
procured  them,  not  with  the  heir.  When  I  go 
into  my  garden  with  a  spade,  and  dig  a  bed,  I 
feel  such  an  exhileration  and  health,  that  I  dis 
cover  that  I  have  been  defrauding  myself  all  this 


MAN  THE  REFORMER.  229 

time  in  letting  others  do  for  me  what  I  should 
have  done  with  my  own  hands.  But  not  only 
health,  but  education  is  in  the  \\rprk.  Is  it  pos 
sible  that  I  who  get  indefinite  quantities  of 
sugar,  hominy,  cotton,  buckets,  crockery  ware, 
and  letter  paper,  by  simply  signing  my  name 
once  in  three  months  to  a  cheque  in  favor  of 
John  Smith  and  Co.  traders,  get  the  fair  share  of 
exercise  to  my  faculties  by  that  act,  which  na 
ture  intended  for  me  in  making  all  these  far 
fetched  matters  important  to  my  comfort  ?  It  is 
Smith  himself,  and  his  carriers,  and  dealers,  and 
manufacturers  ;  it  is  the  sailor,  the  hidedrogher, 
the  butcher,  the  negro,  the  hunter,  and  the 
planter,  who  have  intercepted  the  sugar  of  the 
sugar,  and  the  cotton  of  the  cotton.  They  have 
got  the  education,  I  only  the  commodity.  This 
were  all  very  well  if  I  were  necessarily  absent, 
being  detained  by  wor£  of  my  own,  like  theirs, 
work  of  the  same  faculties  ;  then  should  I  be 
sure  of  my  hands  and  feet,  but  now  I  feel  some 
shame  before  my  wood-chopper,  my  ploughman, 
and  my  cook,  for  they  have  some  sort  of  self- 
sufficiency,  they  can  contrive  without  my  aid  to 
bring  the  day  and  year  round,  but  I  depend  on 
them,  and  have  not  earned  by  use  a  right  to  my 
arms  and  feet. 

Consider  further   the   difference  between  the 
20 


230  MAN  THE  REFORMER. 

first  and  second  owner  of  property.  Every 
species  of  property  is  preyed  on  by  its  own  ene 
mies,  as  iron  by  rust ;  timber  by  rot ;  cloth  by 
moths ;  provisions  by  mould,  putridity,  or  ver 
min  ;  money  by  thieves ;  an  orchard  by  insects ; 
a  planted  field  by  weeds  and  the  inroad  of  cat 
tle  ;  a  stock  of  cattle  by  hunger ;  a  road  by  rain 
and  frost ;  a  bridge  by  freshets.  And  whoever 
takes  any  of  these  things  into  his  possession, 
takes  the  charge  of  defending  them  from  this 
troop  of  enemies,  or  of  keeping  them  in  repair. 
A  man  who  supplies  his  own  want,  who  builds 
a  raft  or  a  boat  to  go  a  fishing,  finds  it  easy  to 
caulk  it,  or  put  in  a  thole-pin,  or  mend  the  rud 
der.  What  he  gets  only  as  fast  as  he  wants  for 
his  own  ends,  does  not  embarrass  him,  or  take 
away  his  sleep  with  looking  after.  But  when  he 
comes  to  give  all  the  goods  he  has  year  after 
year  collected,  in  one  estate  to  his  son,  house, 
orchard,  ploughed  land,  cattle,  bridges,  hard 
ware,  wooden-ware,  carpets,  cloths,  provisions, 
books,  money,  and  cannot  give  him  the  skill  and 
experience  which  made  or  collected  these,  and 
the  method  and  place  they  have  in  his  own  life, 
the  son  finds  his  hands  full,  —  not  to  use  these 
things,  —  but  to  look  after  them  and  defend  them 
from  their  natural  enemies.  To  him  they  are 
not  means,  but  masters.  Their  enemies  will  not 


MAN  THE  REFORMER.  231 

remit;  rust,  mould,  vermin,  rain,  sun,  freshet, 
fire,  all  seize  their  own,  fill  him  with  vexation, 
and  he  is  converted  from  the  owner  into  a  watch 
man  or  a  watch-dog  to  this  magazine  of  old  and 
new  chattels.  What  a  change  !  Instead  of  the 
masterly  good  humor,  and  sense  of  power,  and 
fertility  of  resource  in  himself ;  instead  of  those 
strong  and  learned  hands,  those  piercing  and 
learned  eyes,  that  supple  body,  and  that  mighty 
and  prevailing  heart,  which  the  father  had,  whom 
nature  loved  and  feared,  whom  snow  and  rain, 
water  and  land,  beast  and  fish  seemed  all  to 
know  and  to  serve,  we  have  now  a  puny,  pro 
tected  person,  guarded  by  walls  and  curtains, 
stoves  and  down  beds,  coaches,  and  men  ser 
vants  and  women-servants  from  the  earth  and 
the  sky,  and  who,  bred  to  depend  on  all  these,  is 
made  anxious  by  all  that  endangers  those  pos 
sessions,  and  is  forced  to  spend  so  much  time  in 
guarding  them,  that  he  has  quite  lost  sight  of 
their  original  use,  namely,  to  help  him  to  his 
ends,  —  to  the  prosecution  of  his  love;  to  the 
helping  of  his  friend,  to  the  worship  of  his 
God,  to  the  enlargement  of  his  knowledge,  to 
the  serving  of  his  country,  to  the  indulgence 
of  his  sentiment,  and  he  is  now  what  is  called 
a  rich  man,  —  the  menial  and  runner  of  his 
riches. 


232  MAN  THE  REFORMER. 

Hence  it  happens  that  the  whole  interest  of 
history  lies  in  the  fortunes  of  the  poor.  Know 
ledge,  Virtue,  Power  are  the  victories  of  man 
over  his  necessities,  his  march  to  the  dominion 
of  the  world.  Every  man  ought  to  have  this 
opportunity  to  conquer  the  world  for  himself. 
Only  such  persons  interest  us,  Spartans,  Romans, 
Saracens,  English,  Americans,  who  have  stood 
in  the  jaws  of  need,  and  have  by  their  own  wit 
and  might  extricated  themselves,  and  made  man 
victorious. 

I  do  not  wish  to  overstate  this  doctrine  of 
labor,  or  insist  that  every  man  should  be  a  far 
mer,  any  more  than  that  every  man  should  be  a 
lexicographer.  In  general,  one  may  say,  that  the 
husbandman's  is  the  oldest,  and  most  univer 
sal  profession,  and  that  where  a  man  does  not 
yet  discover  in  himself  any  fitness  for  one  work 
more  than  another,  this  may  be  preferred.  But 
the  doctrine  of  the  Farm  is  merely  this,  that 
every  man  ought  to  stand  in  primary  relations 
with  the  work  of  the  world,  ought  to  do  it  him 
self,  and  not  to  suffer  the  accident  of  his  having 
a  purse  in  his  pocket,  or  his  having  been  bred  to 
some  dishonorable  and  injurious  craft,  to  sever 
him  from  those  duties  ;  and  for  this  reason,  that 
labor  is  God's  education ;  that  he  only  is  a  sin 
cere  learner,  he  only  can  become  a  master,  who 


MAN  THE  REFORMER.  233 

learns  the  secrets  of  labor,  and  who  by  real  cun 
ning  extorts  from  nature  its  sceptre. 

Neither  would  I 'shut  my  ears  to  the  plea  of 
the  learned  professions,  of  the  poet,  the  priest, 
the  lawgiver,  and  men  of  study  generally; 
namely,  that  in  the  experience  of  all  men  of 
that  class,  the  amount  of  manual  labor  which  is 
necessary  to  the  maintenance  of  a  family,  indis 
poses  and  disqualifies  for  intellectual  exertion. 
I  know,  it  often,  perhaps  usually,  happens,  that 
where  there  is  a  fine  organization  apt  for  poetry 
and  philosophy,  that  individual  finds  himself 
compelled  to  wait  on  his  thoughts,  to  waste 
several  days  that  he  may  enhance  and  glorify 
one ;  and  is  better  taught  by  a  moderate  and 
dainty  exercise,  such  as  rambling  in  the  fields, 
rowing,  skating,  hunting,  than  by  the  downright 
drudgery  of  the  farmer  and  the  smith.  I  would 
not  quite  forget  the  venerable  counsel  of  the 
Egyptian  mysteries,  which  declared  that  "  there 
were  two  pairs  of  eyes  in  man,  and  it  is  requi 
site  that  the  pair  which  are  beneath  should 
be  closed,  when  the  pair  that  are  above  them 
perceive,  arid  that  when  the  pair  above  are 
closed,  those  which  are  beneath  should  be  open 
ed.'*  Yet  I  will  suggest  that  no  separation  from 
labor  can  be  without  some  loss  of  power  and  of 
truth  to  the  seer  himself ;  that,  I  doubt  not,  the 
20* 


234  MA1ST   THE   REFORMER. 

faults  and  vices  of  our  literature  and  philosophy, 
their  too  great  fineness,  effeminacy,  and -melan 
choly,  are  attributable  to  the  enervated  and 
sickly  habits  of  the  literary  class.  Better  that 
the  book  should  not  be  quite  so  good,  and  the 
bookmaker  abler  and  better,  and  not  himself 
often  a  ludicrous  contrast  to  all  that  he  has 
written. 

But  granting  thatfor  ends  so  sacred  and  dear, 
some  relaxation  must  be  had,  I  think,  that  if  a 
man  find  in  himself  any  strong  bias  to  poetry,  to 
art,  to  the  contemplative  life,  drawing  him  to 
these  things  with  a  devotion  incompatible  with 
good  husbandry,  that  man  ought  to  reckon  early 
with  himself,  and,  respecting  the  compensations 
of  the  Universe,  ought  to  ransom  himself  from 
the  duties  of  economy,  by  a  certain  rigor  and 
privation  in  his  habits.  For  privileges  so  rare 
and  grand,  let  him  not  stint  to  pay  a  great  tax. 
Let  him  be  a  caenobite,  a  pauper,  and  if  need  be, 
celibate  also.  Let  him  learn  to.  eat  his  meals 
standing,  and  to  relish  the  taste  of  fair  water 
and  black  bread.  He  may  leave  to  others  the 
costly  conveniences  of  housekeeping,  and  large 
hospitality,  and  the  possession  of  works  of  art. 
Let  him  feel  that  genius  is  a  hospitality,  and 
that  he  who  can  create  works  of  art  needs  not 
collect  them.  He  must  live  in  a  chamber,  and 


MAN   THE   REFORMER.  235 

postpone  his  self-indulgence,  forewarned  and 
forearmed  against  that  frequent  misfortune  of 
men  of  genius, — the  taste  for  luxury.  This  is 
the  tragedy  of  genius, — attempting  to  drive 
along  the  ecliptic  with  one  horse  of  the  heavens 
and  one  horse  of  the  earth,  there  is  only  dis 
cord  and  ruin  and  downfall  to  chariot  and  char 
ioteer. 

The  duty  that  every  man  should  assume  his 
own  vows,  should  call  the  institutions  of  society 
to  account,  and  examine  their  fitness  to  him, 
gains  in  emphasis,  if  we  look  at  our  modes  of 
living.  Is  our  housekeeping  sacred  and  honor 
able?  Does  it  raise  and  inspire  us,  or  does  it 
cripple  us  instead  ?  I  ought,  to  be  armed  by 
every  part  and  function  of  my  household,  by  all 
my  social  function,  by  my  economy,  by  my 
feasting,  by  my  voting,  by  my  traffic.  Yet 
I  am  almost  no  party  to  any  of  these  things. 
Custom  does  it  for  me,  gives  me  no  power  there 
from,  and  runs  me  in  debt  to  boot.  We  spend 
our  incomes  for  paint  and  paper,  for  a  hundred 
trifles,  I  know  not  what,  and  not  for  the  things 
of  a  man.  Our  expense  is  almost  all  for  con 
formity.  It  is  for  cake  that  we  run  in  debt ; 
't  is  not  the  intellect,  not  the  heart,  not  beauty, 
not  worship,  that  costs  so  much.  Why  needs 
any  man  be  rich  ?  Why  must  he  have  horses, 


236  MAN   THE  REFORMER. 

fine  garments,  handsome  apartments,  access  to 
public  houses  and  places  of  amusement  ?  Only 
for  want  of  thought.  Give  his  mind  a  new 
image,  and  he  flees  into  a  solitary  garden  or 
garret  to  enjoy  it,  and  is  richer  with  that  dream, 
than  the  fee  of  a  county  could  make  him.  But 
we  are  first  thoughtless,  and  then  find  that  we 
are  moneyless.  We  are  first  sensual,  and  then 
must  be  rich.  We  dare  not  trust  our  wit  for 
making  our  house  pleasant  to  our  friend,  and 
so  we  buy  ice-creams.  He  is  accustomed  to 
carpets,  and  we  have  not  sufficient  character  to 
put  floor  cloths^  out  of  his  mind  whilst  he  stays 
in  the  house,  and  so  we  pile  the  floor  with 
carpets.  Let  the  house  rather  be  a  temple  of 
the  Furies  of  Lacedeemon,  formidable  and  holy 
to  all,  which  none  but  a  Spartan  may  enter 
or  so  much  as  behold.  As  soon  as  there  is 
faith,  as  soon  as  there  is  society,  comfits  and 
cushions  will  be  left  to  slaves.  Expense  will  be 
inventive  and  heroic.  We  shall  eat  hard  and  lie 
hard,  we  shall  dwell  like  the  ancient  Romans  in 
narrow  tenements,  whilst  our  public  edifices, 
like  theirs,  will  be  worthy  for  their  proportion  of 
the  landscape  in  which  we  set  them,  for  conver 
sation,  for  art,  for  music,  for  worship.  We  shall 
be  rich  to  great  purposes ;  poor  only  for  selfish 
ones. 


MAtf  THE  REFORMER.  237 

Now  what  help  for  these  evils  ?  How  can  the 
man  who  has  learned  but  one  art,  procure  all  the 
conveniences  of  life  honestly  ?  Shall  we  say 
all  we  think  ?  —  Perhaps  with  his  own  hands. 
Suppose  he  collects  or  makes  them  ill ;  —  yet  he 
has  learned  their  lesson.  If  he  cannot  do  that.  — 
Then  perhaps  he  can  go  without.  Immense 
wisdom  and  riches  are  in  that.  It  is  better  to  go 
without,  than  to  have  them  at  too  great  a  cost. 
Let  us  learn  the  meaning  of  economy.  Econ 
omy  is  a  high*,  humane  office,  a  sacrament,  when 
its  aim  is  grand ;  when  it  is  the  prudence  of 
simple  tastes,  when  it  is  practised  for  freedom,  or 
love,  or  devotion.  Much  of  the  economy  which 
we  see  in  houses,  is  of  a  base  origin,  and  is  best 
kept  out  of  sight.  Parched  corn  eaten  to-day 
that  I  may  have  roast  fowl  to  my  dinner  on 
Sunday,  is  a  baseness  ;  but  parched  corn  and  a 
house  with  one  apartment,  that  I  may  be  free  of 
all  perturbations,  that  I  may  be  serene  and  docile 
to  what  the  mind  shall  speak,  and  girt  and  road- 
ready  for  the  lowest  mission  of  knowledge  or 
goodwill,  is  frugality  for  gods  and  heroes. 

Can  we  not  learn  the  lesson  of  self-help  ? 
Society  is  full  of  infirm  people,  who  incessantly 
summon  others  to  serve  them.  They  contrive 
everywhere  to  exhaust  for  their  single  comfort 
the  entire  means  and  appliances  of  that  luxury 


238  MAN  THE   REFORMER. 

to  which  our  invention  has  yet  attained.  Sofas, 
ottomans,  stoves,  wine,  game-fowl,  spices,  per 
fumes,  rides,  the  theatre,  entertainments,  —  all 
these  they  want,  they  need,  and  whatever  "can 
be  suggested  more  than  these,  they  crave  also, 
as  if  it  was  the  bread  which  should  keep  them 
from  starving ;  and  if  they  miss  any  one,  they 
represent  themselves  as  the  most  wronged  and 
most  wretched  persons  on  earth.  One  must  have 
been  bom  and  bred  with  them  to  know  how  to 
prepare  a  meal  for  their  learned  stomach.  Mean 
time,  they  never  bestir  themselves  to  serve 
another  person ;  not  they !  they  have  a  great 
deal  more  to  do  for  themselves  than  they  can 
possibly  perform,  nor  do  they  once  perceive  the 
cruel  joke  of  their  lives,  but  the  more  odious 
they  grow,  the  sharper  is  the  tone  of  their  com 
plaining  and  craving.  Can  anything  be  so  ele 
gant  as  to  have  few  wants  and  to  serve  them 
one's  self,  so  as  to  have  somewhat  left  to  give, 
instead  of  being  always  prompt  to  grab  ?  It  is 
more  elegant  to  answer  one's  own  needs,  than  to 
be  richly  served;  inelegant  perhaps  it  may  look 
to-day,  and  to  a  few,  but  it  is  an  elegance  for 
ever  and  to  all. 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  absurd  and  pedantic  in 
reform.  I  do  not  wish  to  push  my  criticism  on 
the  state  of  things  around  me  to  that  extravagant 


MAN   THE   REFORMER.  239 

mark,  that  shall  compel  me  to  suicide,  or  to  an 
absolute  isolation  from  the  advantages  of  civil 
society.  If  we  suddenly  plant  our  foot,  and 
say,  —  I  will  neither  eat  nor  drink  nor  wear  nor 
touch  any  food  or  fabric  which  I  do  not  know 
to  be  innocent,  or  deal  with  any  person  whose 
whole  manner  of  life  is  not  clear  and  rational, 
we  shall  stand  still.  Whose  is  so  ?  Not  mine  ; 
not  thine  ;  not  his.  But  I  think  we  must  clear 
ourselves  each  one  by  the  interrogation,  whether 
we  have  earned  our  bread  to-day  by  the  hearty 
contribution  of  our  energies  to  the  common 
benefit  ?  and  we  must  not  cease  to  tend  to  the 
correction  of  these  flagrant  wrongs,  by  laying 
one  stone  aright  every  day. 

But  the  idea  which  now  begins  to  agitate 
society  has  a  wider  scope  than  our  daily  employ 
ments,  our  households,  and  the  institutions  of 
property.  We  are  to  revise  the  whole  of  our 
social  structure,  the  state,  the  school,  religion, 
marriage,  trade,  science,  and  explore  their  foun 
dations  in  our  own  nature ;  we  are  to  see  that 
the  world  not  only  fitted  the  former  men,  but  fits 
us,  and  to-  clear  ourselves  of  every  usage  which 
has  not  its  roots  in  our  own  mincl.  What  is  a 
man  born  for  but  to  be  a  Reformer,  a  Re-maker 
of  what  man  has  made ;  a  renouncer  of  lies ;  a 
restorer  of  truth  and  good,  imitating  that  great 


240  MAN   THE   REFORMER. 

.  Nature  which  embosoms  us  all,  and  which  sleeps 
no  moment  on  an  old  past,  but  every  hour  repairs 
herself,  yielding  us  every  morning  a  new  day, 
and  with  every  pulsation  a  new  life?  Let  him 
renounce  everything  which  is  not  true  to  him, 
and  put  all  his  practices  back  on  their  first 
thoughts,  and  do  nothing  for  which  he  has  not 
the  whole  world  for  his  reason.  If  there  are  in 
conveniences,  and  what  is  called  ruin  in  the  way, 
because  we  have  so  enervated  and  maimed  our 
selves,  yet  it  would  be  like  dying  of  perfumes  to 
sink  in  the  effort  to  reattach  the  deeds  of  every 
day  to  the  holy  and  mysterious  recesses  of  life. 

The  power,  which  is  at  once  spring  and  regu 
lator  in  all  efforts  of  reform,  is  the  conviction 
that  there  is  an  infinite  worthiness  in  man 
which  will  appear  at  the  call  of  worth,  and  that 
all  particular  reforms  are  the  removing  of  some 
impediment.  Is  it  not  the  highest  duty  that 
man  should  be  honored  in  us  ?  I  ought  not  to 
allow  any  man,  because  he  has  broad  lands,  to 
feel  that  he  is  rich  in  my  presence.  I  ought  to 
make  him  feel  that  I  can  do  without  his  riches, 
that  I  cannot  be  bought,  —  neither  by  comfort, 
neither  by  pride,  —  and  though  I  be  utterly  pen 
niless,  and  receiving  bread  from  him,  that  he  is 
the  poor  man  beside  me.  And  if,  at  the  same 
time,  a  woman  or  a  child  discovers  a  sentiment 


MAN  THE  REFORMER.  241 

of  piety,  or  a  juster  way  of  thinking  than  mine, 
I  ought  to  confess  it  by  my  respect  and  obedi 
ence,  though  it  go  to  alter  my  whole  way  of 
life. 

The  Americans  have  many  virtues,  but  they 
have  not  Faith  and  Hope.  I  know  no  two  words 
whose  meaning  is  more  lost  sight  of.  We  use 
these  words  as  if  they  were  as  obsolete  as  Selah 
and  Amen.  And  yet  they  have  the  broadest 
meaning,  and  the  most  cogent  application  to 
Boston  in  1841.  The  Americans  have  no  faith. 
They  rely  on  the  power  of  a  dollar;  they  are 
deaf  to  a  sentiment.  They  think  you  may  talk 
the  north  wind  down  as  easily  as  raise  society ; 
and  no  class  more  faithless  than  the  scholars  or 
intellectual  men.  Now  if  I  talk  with  a  sincere 
wise  man,  and  my  friend,  with  a  poet,  with  a 
conscientious  youth  who  is  still  under  the  do 
minion  of  his  own  wild  thoughts,  and  not  yet 
harnessed  in  the  team  of  society  to  drag  with  us 
all  in  the  ruts  of  custom,  I  see  at  once  how 
paltry  is  ah1  this  generation  of  unbelievers,  and 
what  a  house  of  cards  their  institutions  are,  and  I 
see  what  one  brave  man,  what  one  great  thought 
executed  might  effect.  I  see  that  the  reason  of 
the  distrust  of  the  practical  man  in  all  theory,  is 
his  inability  to  perceive  the  means  whereby  we 
work.  Look,  he  says,  at  the  tools  with  which 
21 


242  MAN  THE  REFORMER. 

this  world  of  yours  is  to  be  built.  As  we  can 
not  make  a  planet,  with  atmosphere,  rivers,  and 
forests,  by  means  of  the  best  carpenters'  or  en 
gineers'  tools,  with  chemist's  laboratory  and 
smith's  forge  to  boot,  —  so  neither  can  we  ever 
construct  that  heavenly  society  you  prate  of,  out 
of  foolish,  sick,  selfish  men  and  women,  such  as 
we  know  them  to  be.  But  the  believer  not  only 
beholds  his  heaven  to  be  possible,  but  already 
to  begin  to  exist,  —  not  by  the  men  or  materi 
als  the  statesman  uses,  but  by  men  transfigured 
and  raised  above  themselves  by  the  power  of 
principles.  To  principles  something  else  is  pos 
sible  that  transcends  5,11  the  power  of  expedi 
ents. 

Every  great  and  commanding  moment  in  the 
annals  of  the  world  is  the  triumph  of  some 
enthusiasm.  The  victories  of  the  Arabs  after 
Mahomet,  who,  in  a  few  years,  from  a  small 
and  mean  beginning,  established  a  larger  empire 
than  that  of  Rome,  is  an  example.  They  did 
they  knew  not  what.  The  naked  Derar,  horsed 
on  an  idea,  was  found  an  overmatch  for  a  troop 
of  Roman  cavalry.  The  women  fought  like 
men,  and  conquered  the  Roman  men.  They 
were  miserably  equipped,  miserably  fed.  They 
were  Temperance  troops.  There  was  neither 
brandy  nor  flesh  needed  to  feed  them.  They 


MAN  THE  REFORMER.  243 


Conquered  Asia,  and  Africa,  and  Spain,  on  bar- 
ey.  The  Caliph  Omar's  walking-stick  struck 
nore  terror  into  those  who  saw  it,  than  another 
nan's  sword.  His  diet  was  barley  bread;  his 
;auce  was  salt ;  and  oftentimes  by  way  of  absti- 
lence  he  ate  his  bread  without  salt.  His  drink 
vas  water.  His  palace  was  built  of  mud  ;  and 
vhen  he  left  Medina  to  go  to  the  conquest  of 
rerusalem,  he  rode  on  a  red  camel,  with  a  wood 
en  platter  hanging  at  his  saddle,  with  a  bottle  of 
vater  and  two  sacks,  one  holding  barley,  and 
he  other  dried  fruits. 

But  there  will  dawn  ere  long  on  our  politics, 
>n  our  modes  of  living,  a  nobler  morning  than 
hat  Arabian  faith,  in  the  sentiment  of  love. 
This  is  the  one  remedy  for  all  ills,  the  panacea 
f  nature.  We  must  be  lovers,  and  at  once  the 
napossible  becomes  possible.  Our  age  and  his- 
ory,  for  these  thousand  years,  has  not  been  the 
listory  of  kindness,  but  of  selfishness.  Our  dis- 
kist  is  very  expensive.  The  money  we  spend 
jor  courts  ,and  prisons-  is  very  ill  laid  out.  We 
pake,  by  distrust,  the  thief,  and  burglar,  and  in- 
jendiary,  and  by  our  court  and  jail  we  keep  him 
p.  An  acceptance  of  the  sentiment  of  love 
hroughout  Christendom  for  a  season,  would 
Ting  the  felon  and  the  outcast  to  our  side  in 
3ars,  with  the  devotion  of  his  faculties  to  our 


244  MAN  THE  REFORMER. 

service.  See  this  wide  society  of  laboring  men 
and  women.  We  allow  ourselves  to  be  served 
by  them,  we  live  apart  from  them,  and  meet 
them  without  a  salute  in  the  streets.  We  do  not 
greet  their  talents,  nor  rejoice  in  their  good  for 
tune,  nor  foster  their  hopes,  nor  in  the  assembly 
of  the  people  vote  for  what  is  dear  to  thern. 
Thus  we  enact  the  part  of  the  selfish  noble  and 
king  from  the  foundation  of  the  world.  See, 
this  tree  always  bears  one  fruit.  In  every  house 
hold,  the  peace  of  a  pair  is  poisoned  by  the 
malice,  slyness,  indolence,  and  alienation  of  do 
mestics.  Let  any  two  matrons  meet,  and  ob 
serve  -how  soon  their  conversation  turns  on  the 
troubles  from  their  "  help"  as  our  phrase  is.  In 
every  knot  of  laborers,  the  rich  man  does  not 
feel  himself  among  his  friends,  —  and  at  the  polls 
he  finds  them  arrayed  in  a  mass  in  distinct  op 
position  to  him.  We  complain  that  the  politics 
of  masses  of  the  people  are  controlled  by  de 
signing  men,  and  led  in  opposition  to  manifest 
justice  and  the  common  weal,  and  to  their  own 
interest.  But  the  people  do  not  wish  to  be  re 
presented  or  ruled  by  the  ignorant  and  base. 
They  only  vote  for  these,  because  they  were 
asked  with  the  voice  and  semblance  of  kind 
ness.  They  will  not  vote  for  them  long.  They 
inevitably  prefer  wit  and  probity.  To  use  an 


MAN  THE  REFORMER.  245 

Egyptian  metaphor,  it  is  not  their  will  for  any 
long  time  "  to  raise  the  nails  of  wild  beasts,  and 
to  depress  the  heads  of  the  sacred  birds."  Let 
our  affection  flow  out  to  our  fellows  ;  it  would 
operate  in  a  day  the  greatest  of  all  revolutions. 
It  is  better  to  work  on  institutions  by  the  sun 
than  by  the  wind.  The  state  must  consider  the 
poor  man,  and  all  voices  must  speak  for  him. 
Every  child  that  is  bor.n  must  have  a  just  chance 
for  his  bread.  Let  the  amelioration  in  our  laws 
of  property  proceed  from  the  concession  of  the 
rich,  not  from  the  grasping  of  the  poor.  Let  us 
begin  by  habitual  imparting.  Let  us  understand 
that  the  equitable  rule  is,  that  no  one  should 
take  more  than  his  share,  let  him  be  ever  so  rich. 
Let  me  feel  that  I  am  to  be  a  lover.  I  am  to  see 
to  it  that  the  world  is  the  better  for  me,  and  to 
find  Qiy  reward  in  the  act.  Love  would  put  a 
new  face  on  this  weary  old  world  in  which  we 
dwell  as  pagans  and  enemies  too  long,  and  it 
would  warm  the  heart  to  see  how  fast  the  vain 
diplomacy  of  statesmen,  the  impotence  of  armies, 
and  navies,  and  lines  of  defence,  would  be  super 
seded  by  this  unarmed  child.  Love  will  creep 
where  it  cannot  go,  will  accomplish  that  by  im- 
perceptiblex  methods,  —  being  its  own  lever,  ful 
crum,  and  power,  —  which  force  could  never 
achieve.  Have  you  not  seen  in  the  woods,  in  a 
21* 


246  MAN   THE   REFORMER. 

late  autumn  morning,  a  poor  fungus  or  mush 
room,  —  a  plant  without  any  solidity,  nay,  that 
seemed  nothing  but  a  soft  mush  or  jelly,  —  by 
its  constant,  total,  and  inconceivably  gentle  push 
ing,  manage  to  break  its  way  up  through  the 
frosty  ground,  and  actually  to  lift  a  hard  crust 
on  its  head  ?  It  is  the  symbol  of  the  power  of 
kindness.  The  virtue  of  this  principle  in  human 
society  in  application  to  great  interests  is  obso 
lete  and  forgotten.  Once  or  twice  in  history  it 
has  been  tried  in  illustrious  instances,  with  sig 
nal  success.  This  great,  overgrown,  dead  Chris 
tendom  of  ours  still  keeps  alive  at  least  the  name 
of  a  lover  of  mankind.  But  one  day  all  men 
will  be  lovers ;  and  every  calamity  will  be  dis 
solved  in  the  universal  sunshine. 

Will  you  suffer  me  to  add  one  trait  more  to 
this  portrait  of  man  the  reformer  ?  The  media 
tor  between  the  spiritual  and  the  actual  world 
should  have  a  great  prospective  prudence.  An 
Arabian  poet  describes  his  hero  by  saying,  • 

"  Sunshine  was  he 
In  the  winter  day  ; 
And  in  the  midsummer 
Coolness  and  shade." 

He  who  would  help  himself  and  others,  should 
not  be  a  subject  of  irregular  and  interrupted 
impulses  of  virtue,  but  a  continent,  persisting, 


MAN"   THE   REFORMER.  247 

immovable  person,  —  such  as  we  have  seen  a 
few  scattered  up  and  down  in  time  for  the  bless* 
ing  of  the  world;  men  who  have  in  the  gravity 
of  their  nature  a  quality  which  answers  to  the 
fly-wheel  in  a  mill,  which  distributes  the  motion 
equably  over  all  the  wheels,  and  hinders  it  from 
failing  unequally  and  '  suddenly  in  destructive 
shocks.  It  is  better  that  joy  should  be  spread 
over  all  the  day  in  the  form  of  strength,  than 
that  it  should  be  concentrated  into  ecstasies,  full 
of  danger  and  followed  by  reactions.  There  is 
a  sublime  prudence,  which  is  the  very  highest 
that  we  know -of  man,  which,  believing  in  a 
vast  future,  —  sure  of  more  to  come  than  is  yet 
seen,  —  postpones  always  the  present  hour  to 
the  whole  life;  postpones  talent  to  genius,  and 
special  results  to  character.  As  the  merchant 
gladly  takes  money  from  his  income  to  add  to 
his  capital,  so  is  the  great  man  very  willing 
|to  lose  particular  powers  and  talents,  so  that  he 
gain  in  the  elevation  of  his  life.  The  open- 
jing  of  the  spiritual  senses  disposes  men  ever  to 
greater  sacrifices,  to  leave  their  signal  talents, 
!  their  best  means  and  skill  of  procuring  a  present 
success^  their  power  and  their  fame,  —  to  cast  all 
things  behind,  in  the  insatiable  thirst  for  divine 
communications.  A  purer  fame,  a  greater  power 
rewards  the  sacrifice.  It  is  the  conversion  of 


248  MAN  THE  REFORMER. 

our  harvest  into  seed.  As  the  farmer  casts  into 
the  ground  the  finest  ears  of  his  grain,  the 
time  will  come  when  we  too  shall  hold  nothing 
back,  but  shall  eagerly  convert  more  than  we 
now  possess  into  means  and  powers,  when  we 
shall  be  willing  to  sow  the  sun  and  the  moon 
for  seeds. 


LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES. 

BEAD   AT   THE   MASONIC   TEMPLE,   BOSTON,  DECEMBER  2,  1841. 


LECTURE    ON   THE    TIMES. 


THE  TIMES,  as  we  say —  or  the  present  aspects 
of  our  social  state,  the  Laws,  Divinity,  Natural 
Science,  Agriculture,  Art,  Trade,  Letters,  have 
their  root  in  an  invisible  spiritual  reality.  To 
appear  in  these  aspects,  they  must  first  exist,  or 
have  some  necessary  foundation.  Beside  all  the 
small  reasons  we  assign,  there  is  a  great  reason 
for  the  existence  of  every  extant  fact ;  a  reason 
which  lies  grand  and  immovable,  often  unsus 
pected  behind  it  in  silence.  The  Times  are  *the 
masquerade  of  the  eternities  ;  trivial  to  the  dull, 
tokens  of  noble  and  majestic  agents  to  the  wise  ; 
the  receptacle  in  which  the  Past  leaves  its  his 
tory  ;  the  quarry  out  of  which  the  genius  of 
to-day  is  building  up  the  Future.  The  Times  — 
the  nations,  manners,  institutions,  opinions,  votes, 
are  to  be  studied  as  omens,  as  sacred  leaves, 
whereon  a  weighty  sense  is  inscribed,  if  we 


252  LECTTHE   OX   THE   TIMES. 

have  the  wit  and  the  love  to  search  it  out.  Na 
ture  itself  seems  to  propound  to  us  this  topic, 
and  to  invite  us  to  explore  the  meaning  of  the 
conspicuous  facts  of  the  day.  Everything  that 
is  popular,  it  has  been  said,  deserves  the  attention 
of  the  philosopher :  and  this  for  the  obvious 
reason,  that  although  it  may  not  be  of  any 
worth  in  itself,  yet  it  characterizes  the  people. 

Here  is  very  good  matter  to  be  handled,  if  we 
are  skilful ;  aH  abundance  of  important  practical 
questions  which  it  behoves  us  to  understand. 
Let  us  examine  the  pretensions  of  the  attacking 
and  defending  parties.  Here  is  this  great  fact 
of  Conservatism,  entrenched  in  its  immense  re 
doubts,  with  Himmaleh  for  its  front,  and  Atlas 
for  its  flank,  and  Andes  for  its  rear,  and  the  At 
lantic  and  Pacific  seas  for  its  ditches  and  trenches, 
which  has  planted  its  crosses,  and  crescents,  and 
stars  and  stripes,  and  various  signs  and  badges 
of  possession,  over  every  rood  of  the  planet,  and 
says,  'I  will  hold  fast;  and  to  whom  I  will. 
will  I  give  ;  and  whom  I  will,  will  I  exclude 
and  starve : '  so  says  Conservatism ;  and  all  the 
children  of  men  attack  the  colossus  in  their 
youth,  and  all,  or  all  but  a  few,  bow  before  it 
when  they  are  old.  A  necessity  not  yet  com 
manded,  a  negative  imposed  on  the  will  of  man 
by  his  condition,  a  deficiency  in  his  force,  is  the 


LECTURE   ON   THE   TIMES.  253 

foundation  on  which  it  rests.  Let  this  side  be 
fairly  stated.  Meantime,  on  the  other  part, 
arises  Reform,  and  offers  the  sentiment  of  Love 
as  an  overmatch  to  this  material  might.  I  wish 
to  consider  well  this  affirmative  side,  which  has 
a  loftier  port  and  reason  than  heretofore,  which 
encroaches  on  the  other  every  day,  puts  it  out 
of  countenance,  out  of  reason,  and  out  of  ternper, 
and  leaves  it  nothing  but  silence  and  possession. 

The  fact  of  aristocracy,  with  its  two  weapons 
of  wealth  and  manners,  is  as  commanding  a  fea 
ture  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  the  American 
republic,  as  of  old  Rome,  or  modern  England. 
The  reason  and  influence  of  wealth,  the  aspect 
of  philosophy  and  religion,  and  the  tendencies 
which  have  acquired  the  name  of  Transcend 
entalism  in  Old  and  New  England ;  the  aspect  of 
poetry,  as  the  exponent  and  interpretation  of 
these  things  ;  the  fuller  development  and  the 
freer  play  of  Character  as  a  social  and  political 
agent ;  —  these  and  other  related  topics  will  in 
turn  come  to  be  considered. 

But  the  subject  of  the  Times  is  not  an  abstract 
question.  We  talk  of  the  world,  but  we  mean 
a  few  men  and  women.  If  you  speak  of  the 
age,  you  mean  your  own  platoon  of  people,  as 
Milton  and  Dante  painted  in  colossal  their  pla 
toons,  and  called  them  Heaven  and  Hell.  In 
22 


254  LECTURE   ON*  THE   TIMES. 

our  idea  of  progress,  we  do  not  go  out  of  this 
personal  picture.  We  do  not  think  the  sky  will 
be  bluer,  or  honey  sweeter,  or  our  climate  more 
temperate,  but  only  that  our  relation  to  our  fel 
lows  will  be  simpler  and  happier.  What  is  the 
reason  to  be  given  for  this  extreme  attraction 
which  persons  have  for  us,  but  that  they  are  the 
Age  ?  they  are  the  results  of  the  Past ;  they  are 
the  heralds  of  the  Future.  They  indicate, — 
these  witty,  suffering,  blushing,  intimidating 
figures  of  the  only  race  in  which  there  are  indi 
viduals  or  changes,  how  far  on  the  Fate  has 
gone,  and  what  it  drives  at.  As  trees  make 
scenery,  and  constitute  the  hospitality  of  the 
landscape,  so  persons  are  the  world  to  persons. 
A  cunning  mystery  by  which  the  Great  Desart 
of  thoughts  and  of  planets  takes  this  engaging 
form,  to  bring,  as  it  would  seem,  its  meanings 
nearer  to  the  mind.  Thoughts  walk  and  speak, 
and  look  with  eyes  at  me,  and  transport  me  into 
new  and  magnificent  scenes.  These  are  the 
pungent  instructors  who  thrill  the  heart  of  each 
of  us,  and  make  all  other  teaching  formal  and 
cold.  How  I  follow  them  with  aching  heart, 
with  pining  desire !  I  count  myself  nothing 
before  them.  I  would  die  for  them  with  joy. 
They  can  do  what  they  will  with  me.  How 
they  lash  us  with  those  tongues!  How  they 


LECTURE   ON   THE   TIMES.  255 

make  the  tears  start,  make  us  blush  and  turn 
pale,  and  lap  us  in  Elysium  to  soothing  dreams, 
and  castles  in  the  air !  By  tones  of  triumph ; 
of  dear  love ;  by  threats  ;  by  pride  that  freezes ; 
these  have  the  skill  to  make  the  world  look 
bleak  and  inhospitable,  or  seem  the  nest  of 
tenderness  and  joy.  I  do  not  wonder  at  the 
miracles  which  poetry  attributes  to  the  music 
of  Orpheus,  when  I  remember  what  I  have  ex 
perienced  from  the  varied  notes  of  the  human 
voice.  They  are  an  incalculable  energy  which 
countervails  all  other  forces  in  nature,  because 
they  are  the  channel  of  supernatural  powers. 
There  is  no  interest  or  institution  so  poor  and 
withered,  but  if  a  new  strong  man  could  be  born 
into  it,  he  would  immediately  redeem  and  replace 
it.  A  personal  ascendency,  —  that  is  the  only 
fact  much  worth  considering.  I  remember,  some 
years  ago,  somebody  shocked  a  circle  of  friends 
of  order  here  in  Boston,  who  supposed  that  our 
people  were  identified  with  their  religious  de 
nominations,  by  declaring  that  an  eloquent  man, 
—  let  him  be  of  what  sect  soever, — would  be 
ordained  at  once  in  one  of  our  metropolitan 
churches.  To  be  sure  he  would ;  and  not  only 
in  ours,  but  in  any  church,  mosque,  or  temple, 
on  the  planet ;  but  he  must  be  eloquent,  able  to 
supplant  our  method  and  classification,  by  the 


256         LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES. 

superior  beauty  of  his  own.  Every  fact  we  have 
was  brought  here  by  some  person  ;  and  there  is 
none  that  will  not  change  and  pass  away  before 
a  person,  whose  nature  is  broader  than  the  per 
son  which  the  fact  in  question  represents.  And 
so  I  find  the  Age  walking  about  in  happy  and 
hopeful  natures,  in  strong  eyes,  and  pleasant 
thoughts,  and  think  I  read  it  nearer  and  truer  so, 
than  in  the  statute-book,  or  in  the  investments 
of  capital,  which  rather  celebrate  with  mournful 
music  the  obsequies  of  the  last  age.  In  the  brain 
of  a  fanatic ;  in  the  wild  hope  of  a  mountain 
boy,  called  by  city  boys  very  ignorant,  because 
they  do  not  know  what  his  hope  has  certainly 
apprised  him  shall  be ;  in  the  love-glance  of  a 
girl ;  in  the  hair-splitting  conscientiousness  of 
some  eccentric  person,  who  has  found  some  new 
scruple  to  embarrass  himself  and  his  neighbors 
withal ;  is  to  be  found  that  which  shall  consti 
tute  the  times  to  come,  more  than  in  the  now 
organized  and  accredited  oracles.  For,  whatever 
is  affirmative  and  now  advancing,  contains  it. 
I  think  that  only  is  real,  which  men  love  and 
rejoice  in  ;  not  what  they  tolerate,  but  what  they 
choose ;  what  they  embrace  and  avow,  and  not 
the  things  which  chill,  benumb,  and  terrify 
them. 

And  so  why  not  draw  for  these  times  a  portrait 


LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES.         257 

gallery  ?  Let  us  paint  the  painters.  Whilst  the 
D  a  gu  err  eo  typist,  with  camera-obscura  and  silver 
plate,  begins  now  to  traverse  the  land,  let  us  set 
up  our  Camera  also,  and  let  the  sun  paint  the 
people.  Let  us  paint  the  agitator,  and  the  man 
of  the  old  school,  and  the  member  of  Congress, 
and  the  college-professor,  the  formidable  editor, 
the  priest,  and  reformer,  the  contemplative  girl, 
and  the  fair  aspirant  for  fashion  and  opportum;- 
ties,  the  woman  of  the  world  who  has  tried  and 
knows ;  —  let  us  examine  how  well  she  knows. 
Could  we  indicate  the  indicators,  indicate  those 
who  most  accurately  represent  every  good  and 
evil  tendency  of  the  general  mind,  in  the  just 
order  which  they  take  on  this  canvass  of  Time ; 
so  that  all  witnesses  should  recognise  a  spiritual 
law,  as  each  well  known  form  flitted  for  a  mo 
ment  across  the  wall,  we  should  have  a  series  of 
sketches  which  would  report  to  the  next  ages  the 
color  and  quality  of  ours. 

Certainly,  I  think,  if  this  were  done,  there 
would  be  much  to  admire  as  well  as  to  con 
demn  ;  souls  of  as  lofty  a  port,  as  any  in  Greek 
or  Roman  fame,  might  appear;  men  of  great 
heart,  of  strong  hand,  and  of  persuasive  speech  ; 
subtle  thinkers,  and  men  of  wide  sympathy,  and 
an  apprehension  which  looks  over  all  history,  and 
everywhere  recognises  its  own.  To  be  sure,  there 
22* 


258         LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES. 

will  be  fragments  and  hints  of  men,  more  than 
enough  :  bloated  promises,  which  end  in  noth 
ing  or  little.  And  then  truly  great  men,  but 
with  some  defect  in  their  composition,  which 
neutralizes  their  whole  force.  Here  is  a  Da 
mascus  blade,  such  as  you  may  search  through 
nature  in  vain  to  parallel,  laid  up  on  the  shelf  in 
some  village  to  rust  and  ruin.  And  how  many 
seem  not  quite  available  for  that  idea  which  they 
represent  ?  Now  and  then  comes  a  bolder  spirit, 
I  should  rather  say,  a  more  surrendered  soul, 
more  informed  and  led  by  God,  which  is  much 
in  advance  of  the  rest,  quite  beyond  their  sym 
pathy,  but  predicts  what  shall  soon  be  the  gen 
eral  fulness ;  as  when  we  stand  by  the  seashore, 
whilst  the  tide  is  coming  in,  a  wave  comes  up 
the  beach  far  higher  than  any  foregoing  one,  and 
recedes ;  and  for  a  long  while  none  comes  up  to 
that  mark  ;  but  after  some  time  the  whole  sea  is 
there  and  beyond  it. 

But  we  are  not  permitted  to  stand  as  specta 
tors  of  the  pageant  which  the  times  exhibit ;  we 
are  parties  also,  and  have  a  responsibility  which 
is  not  to  be  declined.  A  little  while  this  inter 
val  of  wonder  and  comparison  is  permitted  us, 
but  to  the  end  that  we  shall  play  a  manly  part. 
As  the  solar  system  moves  forward  in  the  heav 
ens,  certain  stars  open  before  us,  and  certain  stars 


LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES.         259 

close  up  behind  us ;  so  is  man's  life.  The  repu 
tations  that  were  great  and  inaccessible  change 
and  tarnish.  How  great  were  once  Lord  Ba 
con's  dimensions !  he  is  now  reduced  almost  to 
the  middle  height ;  and  many  another  star  has 
turned  out  to  be  a  planet  or  an  asteroid :  only  a 
few  are  the  fixed  stars  which  have  no  parallax, 
or  none  for  us.  The  change  and  decline  of  old 
reputations  are  the  gracious  marks  of  our  own 
growth.  Slowly,  like  light  of  morning,  it  steals 
on  us,  the  new  fact,  that  we,  who  were  pupils 
or  aspirants,  are  now  society :  do  compose  a 
portion  of  that  head  and  heart  we  are  wont  to 
think  worthy  of  all  reverence  and  heed.  We 
are  the  representatives  of  religion  and  intellect, 
and  stand  in  the  light  of  Ideas,  whose  rays  stream 
through  us  to  those  younger  and  more  in  the 
dark.  What  further  relations  we  sustain,  what 
new  lodges  we  are  entering,  is  now  unknown. 
To-day  is  a  king  in  disguise.  To-day  always 
looks  mean  to  the  thoughtless,  in  the  face  of  an 
uniform  experience,  that  all  good  and  great  and 
happy  actions  are  made  up  precisely  of  these 
blank  to-days.  Let  us  not  be  so  deceived.  Let 
us  unmask  the  king  as  he  passes.  Let  us  not 
inhabit  times  of  wonderful  and  various  promise 
without  divining  their  tendency.  Let  us  not  see 
the  foundations  of  nations,  and  of  a  new  and 


260  LECTURE    ON   THE   TIMES. 

better  order  of  things  laid,  with  roving  eyes,  and 
an  attention  preoccupied  with  trifles. 

The  two  omnipresent  parties  of  History,  the 
party  of  the  Past  and  the  party  of  the  Future, 
divide  society  to-day  as  of  old.  Here  is  the  in 
numerable  multitude  of  those  who  accept  the 
state  and  the  church  from  the  last  generation, 
and  stand  on  no  argument  but  possession.  They 
have  reason  also,  and,  as  I  think,  better  reason 
than  is  commonly  stated.  No  Burke,  no  Metter- 
nich  has  yet  done  full  justice  to  the  side  of  con 
servatism.  But  this  class,  however  large,  rely 
ing  not  on  the  intellect  but  on  the  instinct,  blends 
itself  with  the  brute  forces  of  nature,  is  respecta 
ble  only  as  nature  is,  but  the  individuals  have  no 
attraction  for  us.  It  is  the  dissenter,  the  theo 
rist,  the  aspirant,  who  is  quitting  this  ancient 
domain  to  embark  on  seas  of  adventure,  who 
engages  our  interest.  Omitting  then  for  the 
present  ah1  notice  of  the  stationary  class,  we  shall 
find  that  the  movement  party  divides  itself  into 
two  classes,  the  actors,  and  the  students. 

The  actors  constitute  that  great  army  of  mar 
tyrs  who,  at  least  in  America,  by  their  conscience 
and  philanthropy,  occupy  the  ground  which  Cal 
vinism  occupied  in  the  last  age,  and  compose 
the  visible  church  of  the  existing  generation. 
The  present  age  will  be  marked  by  its  harvest  of 


LECTURE   ON   THE   TIMES.  261 

projects  for  the  reform  of  domestic,  civil,  literary, 
and  ecclesiastical  institutions.  The  leaders  of 
the  crusades  against  War,  Negro  slavery,  Intem 
perance,  Government  based  on  force,  Usages  of 
trade,  Court  and  Custom-house  Oaths,  and  so  on 
to  the  agitators  on  the  system  of  Education  and 
the  laws  of  Property,  are  the  right  successors  of 
Luther,  Knox,  Robinson,  Fox,  Perm,  Wesley,  and 
Whitfield.  They  have  the  same  virtues  and  vices ; 
the  same  noble  impulse,  and  the  same  bigotry. 
These  movements  are  on  all  accounts  important ; 
they  not  only  check  the  special  abuses,  but  they 
educate  the  conscience  and  the  intellect  of  the 
people.  How  can  such  a  question  as  the  Slave- 
trade  be  agitated  for  forty  years  by  all  the  Chris 
tian  nations,  without  throwing  great  light  on 
ethics  into  the  general  mind  ?  The  fury,  with 
which  the  slave-trader  defends  every  inch  of  his 
bloody  deck,  and  his  howling  auction-platform,  is 
a  trumpet  to  alarm  the  ear  of  mankind,  to  wake 
the  dull,  and  drive  all  neutrals  to  take  sides,  and 
to  listen  to  the  argument  and  the  verdict.  The 
Temperance-question,  which  rides  the  conversa 
tion  of  ten  thousand  circles,  and  is  tacitly  recalled 
at  every  public  and  at  every  private  table,  draw 
ing  with  it  all  the  curious  ethics  of  the  Pledge, 
of  the  Wine-question,  of  the  equity  of  the  manu 
facture  and  the  trade,  is  a  gymnastic  training  to 


262  LECTURE   ON   THE   TIMES. 

the  casuistry  and  conscience  of  the  time.  Anti- 
masonry  had  a  deep  right  and  wrong,  which 
gradually  emerged  to  sight  out  of  the  turbid  con 
troversy.  The  political  questions  touching  the 
Banks ;  the  Tariff;  the  limits  of  the  executive 
power;  the  right  of  the  constituent  to  instruct 
the  representative ;  the  treatment  of  the  Indians  ; 
the  Boundary  \vars  ;  the  Congress  of  nations  ; 
are  all  pregnant  with  ethical  conclusions  ;  and  it 
is  well  if  government  and  our  social  order  can 
extricate  themselves  from  these  alembics,  and 
find  themselves  still  government  and  social  order. 
The  student  of  history  will  hereafter  compute 
the  singular  value  of  ~our  endless  discussion  of 
questions,  to  the  mind  of  the  period. 

Whilst  each  of  these  aspirations  and  attempts 
of  the  people  for  the  Better  is  magnified  by 
the  natural  exaggeration  of  its  advocates,  until 
it  excludes  the  others  from  sight,  and  repels 
discreet  persons  by  the  unfairness  of  the  plea, 
the  movements  are  in  reality  all  parts  of  one 
movement.  There  is  a  perfect  chain,  —  see  it, 
or  see  it  not,  —  of  reforms  emerging  from  the 
surrounding  darkness,  each  cherishing  some  part 
of  the  general  idea,  and  all  must  be  seen,  in 
order  to  do  justice  to  any  one.  Seen  in  this 
their  natural  connection,  they  are  sublime.  The 
conscience  of  the  Age  demonstrates  itself  in  this 


LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES.         263 

effort  to  raise  the  life  of  man  by  putting  it  in 
harmony  with  his  idea  of  the  Beautiful  and  the 
Just.  The  history  of  reform  is  always  identical ; 
it  is  the  comparison  of  the  idea  with  the  fact. 
Our  modes  of  living  are  not  agreeable  to  our 
imagination.  We  suspect  they  are  unworthy. 
We  arraign  our  daily  employments.  They  ap 
pear  to  us  unfit,  unworthy  of  the  faculties  we 
spend  on  them.  In  conversation  with  a  wise 
man,  we  find  ourselves  apologizing  for  our  em 
ployments  ;  we  speak  of  them  with  shame. 
Nature,  literature,  science,  childhood,  appear  to 
us  beautiful ;  but  not  our  own  daily  worlq  not 
the  ripe  fruit  and  considered  labors  of  man. 
This  beauty  which  the  fancy  finds  in  every 
thing  else,  certainly  accuses  the  manner  of  life 
we  lead.  Why  should  it  be  hateful  ?  Why 
should  it  contrast  thus  with  all  natural  beauty  ? 
Why  should  it  not  be  poetic,  and  invite  and 
raise  us  ?  Is  there  a  necessity  that  the  works  of 
man  should  be  sordid  ?  Perhaps  not.  —  Out  of 
this  fair  Idea  in  the  mind  springs  the  effort  at 
the  Perfect.  It  is  the  interior  testimony  to  a 
fairer  possibility  of  life  and  manners,  which 
agitates  society  every  day  with  the  offer  of 
some  new  amendment.  If  we  would  make 
more  strict  inquiry  concerning  its  origin,  we  find 
ourselves  rapidly  approaching  the  inner  boun- 


264  LECTURE   ON   THE   TIMES. 

daries  of  thought,  that  term  where  speech  be 
comes  silence,  and  science  conscience.  For  the 
origin  of  all  reform  is  in  that  mysterious  fountain 
of  the  moral  sentiment  in  man,  which,  amidst 
the  natural,  ever  contains  the  supernatural  for 
men.  That  is  new  and  creative.  That  is  alive. 
That  alone  <jan  make  a  man  other  than  he  is. 
Here  or  nowhere  resides  unbounded  energy,  un 
bounded  power. 

The  new  voices  in  the  wilderness  crying 
"  Repent,"  have  revived  a  hope,  which  had  well- 
nigh  perished  out  of  the  world,  that  the  thoughts 
of  the  mind  may  yet,  in  some  distant  age,  in 
some  happy  hour,  be  executed  by  the  hands. 
That  is  the  hope,  of  which  all  other  hopes  are 
.parts.  For  some  ages,  these  ideas  have  been 
consigned  to  the  poet  and  musical  composer,  to 
the  prayers  and  the  sermons  of  churches  ;  but 
the  thought,  that  they  can  ever  have  any  footing 
in  real  life,  seems  long  since  to  have  been  ex 
ploded  by  all  judicious  persons.  Milton,  in  his 
best  tract,  describes  a  relation  between  religion 
and  the  daily  occupations,  which  is  true  until 
this  time. 

"  A  wealthy  man,  addicted  to  his  pleasure  and 
to  his  profits,  finds  religion  to  be  a  traffic  so  en 
tangled,  and  of  so  many  piddling  accounts,  that 
of  all  mysteries  he  cannot  skill  to  keep  a  stock 


LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES.         265 

going  upon  that  trade.  What  should  he  do? 
Fain  he  would  have  the  name  to  be  religious ; 
fain  he  would  bear  up  with  his  neighbors  in  that. 
What  does  he,  therefore,  but  resolve  to  give 
over  toiling,  and  to  find  himself  out  some  factor, 
to  whose  care  and  credit  he  may  commit  the 
whole  managing  of  his  religious  affairs ;  some 
divine  of  note  and  estimation  that  must  be.  To 
him  he  adheres,  resigns  the  whole  warehouse  of 
his  religion,  with  all  the  locks  and  keys,  into  his 
custody ;  and  indeed  makes  the  very  person  of 
that  man  his  religion ;  esteems  his  associating 
with  him  a  sufficient  evidence  and  commenda 
tory  of  his  own  piety.  So  that  a  man  may  say, 
his  religion  is  now  no  more  within  himself,  but 
is  become  a  dividual  moveable,  and  goes  and 
comes  near  him,  according  as  that  good  man  fre 
quents  the  house.  He  entertains  him,  gives  him 
gifts,  feasts  him,  Iq^ges  him  ;  his  religion  comes 
home  at  night,  prays,  is  liberally  supped,  and 
sumptuously  laid  to  sleep,  rises,  is  saluted,  and 
after  the  malmsey,  or  some  well  spiced  beverage, 
and  better  breakfasted  than  he  whose  morning 
appetite  would  have  gladly  fed  on  green  figs 
between  Bethany  and  Jerusalem,  his  religion 
walks  abroad  at  eight,  and  leaves  his  kind  enter 
tainer  in  the  shop,  trading  ah1  day  without  his 
religion." 

23 


266  LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES. 

This  picture  would  serve  for  our  times.  Re 
ligion  was  not  invited  to  eat  or  drink  or  sleep 
with  us,  or  to  make  or  divide  an  estate,  but  was 
a  holiday  guest.  Such  omissions  judge  the 
church ;  as  the  compromise  made  with  the  slave 
holder,  not  much  noticed  at  first,  every  day 
appears  more  flagrant  mischief  to  the  American 
constitution.  But  now  the  purists  are  looking 
into  all  these  matters.  The  more  intelligent  are 
growing  uneasy  on  the  subject  of  Marriage. 
They  wish  to  see  the  character  represented  also 
in  that  covenant.  There  shall  be  nothing  brutal 
in  it,  but  it  shall  honor  the  man  and  the  woman, 
as  much  as  the  most  diffusive  and  universal 
action.  Grimly  the  same  spirit  looks  into  the 
law  of  Property,  and  accuses  men  of  driving  a 
trade  in  the  great  boundless  providence  which 
had  given  the  air,  the  water,  and  the  land  to 
men,  to  use  and  not  to  fence*in  and  monopolize. 
It  casts  its  eye  on  Trade,  and  Day  Labor,  and 
so  it  goes  up  and  down,  paving  the  earth  with 
eyes,  destroying  privacy  and  making  thorough- 
lights.  Is  all  this  for  nothing  ?  Do  you  suppose 
that  the  reformers,  which  are  preparing,  will  be 
as  superficial  as  those  we  know  ? 

By  the  books  it  reads  and  translates,  judge 
what  books  it  will  presently  print.  A  great  deal 
of  the  profoundest  thinking  of  antiquity,  which 


LECTCBE  ON  THE  TIMES.         267 

had  become  as  good  as  obsolete  for  us,  is  now 
re-appearing  in  extracts  and  allusions,  and  in 
twenty  years  will  get  all  printed  anew.  See 
how  daring  is  the  reading,  the  speculation,  the 
experimenting  of  the  time.  If  now  some  genius 
shall  arise  who  could  unite  these  scattered  rays ! 
And  always  such  a  genius  does  embody  the  ideas 
of  each  time.  Here  is  great  variety  and  richness 
of  mysticism,  each  part  of  which  now  only  dis 
gusts,  whilst  it  forms  the  sole  thought  of  some 
poor  Perfectionist  or  "  Comer  out,"  yet,  when  it 
shall  be  taken  up  as  the  garniture  of  some  pro 
found  and  all-reconciling  thinker,  will  appear 
the  rich  and  appropriate  decoration  of  his  robes. 
These  reforms  are  our  contemporaries  ;  they 
are  ourselves;  our  own  light,  and  sight,  and 
conscience ;  they  only  name  the  relation  which 
subsists  between  us  and  the  vicious  institutions 
which  they  go  to  rectify.  They  are  the  simplest 
statements  of  man  in  these  matters ;  the  plain 
right  and  wrong.  I  cannot  choose  but  allow  and 
honor  them.  The  impulse  is  good,  and  the  • 
theory ;  the  practice  is  less  beautiful.  The  Re 
formers  affirm  the  inward  life,  but  they  do  not 
trust  it,  but  use  outward  and  vulgar '  means. 
They  do  not  rely  on  precisely  that  strength 
which  wins  me  to  their  cause ;  not  on  love,  not 
on  a  principle,  but  on  men,  on  multitudes,  on 


268  LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES. 

circumstances,  on  money,  on  party ;  that  is,  on 
fear,  on  wrath,  and  pride.  The  love  which  lifted 
men  to  the  sight  of  these  better  ends,  was  the 
true  and  best  distinction  of  this  time,  the  dispo 
sition  to  trust  a  principle  more  than  a  material 
force.  I  think  that  the  soul  of  reform ;  the  con 
viction,  that  not  sensualism,  not  slavery,  not 
war,  not  imprisonment,  not  even  government,  are 
needed,  —  but  in  lieu  of  them  all,  reliance  on 
.the  sentiment  of  man,  which  will  work  best  the 
more  it  is  trusted ;  not  reliance  on  numbers,  but, 
contrariwise,  distrust  of  numbers,  and  the  feeling 
that  then  are  we  strongest,  when  most  private 
and  alone.  The  young  men,  who  have  been 
vexing  society  for  these  last  years  with  regener 
ative  methods,  seem  to  have  made  this  mistake ; 
they  all  exaggerated  some  special  means,  and  all 
failed  to  see  that  the  Reform  of  Reforms  must 
be  accomplished  without  means. 

The  Reforms  have  their  high  origin  in  an 
ideal  justice,  but  they  do  not  retain  the  purity 
of  an  idea.  They  are  quickly  organized  in  some 
low,  inadequate  form,  and  present  no  more  po 
etic  image  to  the  mind,  than  the  evil  tradition 
which  they  reprobated.  They  mix  the  fire  of 
the  moral  sentiment  with  personal  and  party 
heats,  with  measureless  exaggerations,  and  the 
blindness  that  prefers  some  darling  measure  to 


LECTURE   ON   THE   TIMES. 


justice  and  truth.  Those,  who  are  urging  with 
most  ardor  what  are  called  the  greatest  benefits 
of  mankind,  are  narrow,  self-pleasing,  conceited 
men,  and  affect  us  as  the  insane  do.  They  bite 
us,  and  we  run  mad  also.  I  think  the  work  of 
the  reformer  as  innocent  as  other  work  that  is 
done  around  him ;  but  when  I  have  seen  it  near, 
I  do  not  like  it  better.  It  is  done  in  the  same 
way,  it  is  done  profanely,  not  piously ;  by  man 
agement,  by  tactics,  and  clamor.  It  is  a  buzz 
in  the  ear.  I  cannot  feel  any  pleasure  in  sacri 
fices  which  display  to  me  such  partiality  of 
character.  We  do  not  want  actions,  but  men ; 
not  a  chemical  drop  of  water,  but  rain  ;  the 
spirit  that  sheds  and  showers  actions,  countless, 
endless  actions.  You  have  on  some  occasion 
played  a  bold  part.  You  have  set  your  heart 
and  face  against  society,  when  you  thought  it 
wrong,  and  returned  it  frown  for  frown.  Excel 
lent  :  now  can  you  afford  to  forget  it,  reckoning 
all  your  action  no  more  than  the  passing  of  your 
hand  through  the  air,  or  a  little  breath  of  your 
mouth?  The  world  leaves  no  track  in  space, 
and  the  greatest  action  of  man  no  mark  in  the 
vast  idea.  To  the  youth  diffident  of  his  ability, 
and  full  of  compunction  at  his  unprofitable  ex 
istence,  the  temptation  is  always  great  to  lend 
himself  to  public  movements,  and  as  one  of  a 
23* 


270  LECTURE   ON  THE  TIMES. 

party  accomplish  what  he  cannot  hope  to  effect 
alone.  But  he  must  resist  the  degradation  of  a 
man  to  a  measure.  I  must  act  with  truth,  though 
I  should  never  come  to  act,  as  you  call  it,  with 
effect.  I  must  consent  to  inaction.  A  patience 
which  is  grand ;  a  brave  and  cold  neglect  of  the 
offices  which  prudence  exacts,  so  it  be  done  in  a 
deep  upper  piety  ;  a  consent  to  solitude  and  in 
action,  which  proceeds  out  of  an  unwillingness 
to  violate  character,  is  the  century  which  makes 
the  gem.  Whilst  therefore  I  desire  to  express 
the  respect  and  joy  I  feel  before  this  sublime 
connection  of  reforms,  now  in  their  infancy 
around  us,  I  urge  the  more  earnestly  the  para 
mount  duties  of  self-reliance.  I  cannot  find 
language  of  sufficient  energy  to  convey  my 
sense  of  the  sacredness  of  private  integrity.  All 
men,  all  things,  the  state,  the  church,  yea  the 
friends  of  the  heart  are  phantasms  and  unreal 
beside  the  sanctuary  of  the  heart.  With  so 
much  awe,  with  so  much  fear,  let  it  be  re 
spected. 

The  great  majority  of  men,  unable  to  judge 
of  any  principle  until  its  light  falls  on  a  fact,  are 
not  aware  of  the  evil  that  is  around  them,  until 
they  see  it  in  some  gross  form,  as  in  a  class  of 
intemperate  men,  or  slaveholders,  or  soldiers, 
or  fraudulent  persons.  Then  they  are  greatly 


LECTURE   ON   THE   TIMES.  271 

moved;  and  magnifying  the  importance  of  that 
wrong,  they  fancy  that  if  that  abuse  were  re 
dressed,  all  would  go  well,  and  they  fill  the  land 
with  clamor  to  correct  it.  Hence  the  missionary 
and  other  religious  efforts.  If  every  island  and 
every  house  had  a  Bible,  if  every  child  was 
brought  into  the  Sunday  School,  would  the 
wounds  of  the  world  .heal,  and  man  be  up 
right  ? 

But  the  man  of  ideas,  accounting  the  circum 
stance  nothing,  judges  of  the  commonwealth 
from  the  state  of  his  own  mind.  *  If,'  he  says, 
* 1  am  selfish,  then  is  there  slavery,  or  the  effort 
to  establish  it,  wherever  I  go.  But  if  I  am  just, 
then  is  there  no  slavery,  let  the  laws  say  what 
they  will.  For  if  I  treat  all  men  as  gods,  how 
to  me  can  there  be  any  such  thing  as  a  slave  ? ' 
But  how  frivolous  is  your  war  against  circum 
stances.  This  denouncing  philanthropist  is 
himself  a  slaveholder  in  every  word  and  look. 
Does  he  free  me  ?  Does  he  cheer  me  ?  He  is 
the  state  of  Georgia,  or  Alabama,  with  their  san 
guinary  slave-laws,  walking  here  on  our  north 
eastern  shores.  We  are  all  thankful  he  has  no 
more  political  power,  as  we  are  fond  of  liberty 
ourselves.  I  am  afraid  our  virtue  is  a  little  geo 
graphical.  I  am  not  mortified  by  our  vice ;  that 
is  obduracy ;  it  colors  and  palters,  it  curses  and 


272  LECTURE   ON   THE   TIMES. 

swears,  and  I  can  see  to  the  end  of  it;  but,  I 
own,  our  virtue  makes  me  ashamed  ;  so  sour  and 
narrow,  so  thin  and  blind,  virtue  so  vice-like. 
Then  again,  how  trivial  seem  the  contests  of  the 
abolitionist,  whilst  he  aims  merely  at  the  cir 
cumstance  of  the  slave.  Give  the  slave  the 
least  elevation  of  religious  sentiment,  and  he  is 
no  slave  :  you  are  the  slave  :  he  not  only  in  his 
humility  feels  his  superiority,  feels  that  much 
deplored  condition  of  his  to  be  a  fading  trifle, 
but  he  makes  you  feel  it  too.  He  is  the  master. 
The  exaggeration,  which  our  young  people  make 
of  his  wrongs,  characterizes  themselves.  What 
are  no  trifles  to  them,  they  naturally  think  are 
no  trifles  to  Pompey. 

We  say,  then,  that  the  reforming  movement 
is  sacred  in  its  origin ;  in  its  management  and 
details  timid  and  profane.  These  benefactors 
hope  to  raise  man  by  improving  his  circum 
stances  :  by  combination  of  that  which  is  dead, 
they  hope  to  make  something  alive.  In  vain. 
By  new  infusions  alone  of  the  spirit  by  which  he 
is  made  and  directed,  can  he  be  re-made  and 
reinforced.  The  sad  Pestalozzi,  who  shared 
with  all  ardent  spirits  the  hope  of  Europe  on 
the  outbreak  of  the  French  Revolution,  after 
witnessing  its  sequel,  recorded  his  conviction, 
that  "  the  amelioration  of  outward  circumstances 


LECTTJKE   ON  THE  TIMES.  273 

will  be  the  effect,  but  can  never  be  the  means 
of  mental  and  moral  improvement."  Quitting 
now  the  class  of  actors,  let  us  turn  to  see  how 
it  stands  with  the  other  class  o£  which  we  spoke, 
namely,  the  students. 

A  new  disease  has  fallen  on  the  life  of  man. 
Every  Age,  like  every  human  body,  has  its  own 
distemper.  Other  times  have  had  war,  or  fam 
ine,  or  a  barbarism  domestic  or  bordering,  as 
their  antagonism.  Our  forefathers  walked  in 
the  world  and  went  to  their  graves,  tormented 
with  the  fear  of  Sin,  and  the  terror  of  the  Day 
of  Judgment.  These  terrors  have  lost  their 
force,  and  our  torment  is  Unbelief,  the  Uncer 
tainty  as  to  what  we  ought  to  do ;  the  distrust 
of  the  value  of  what  we  do,  and  the  distrust 
-  that  the  Necessity  (which  we  all  at  last  believe 
in)  is  fair  and  beneficent.  Our  Religion  assumes 
the  negative  form  of  rejection.  Out  of  love  of 
the  true,  we  repudiate  the  false  :  and  the  Re 
ligion  is  an  abolishing  criticism.  A  great  per 
plexity  hangs  like  a  cloud  on  the  brow  of  all 
cultivated  persons,  a  certain  imbecility  in  the 
best  spirits,  which  distinguishes  the  period.  We 
do  not  find  the  same  trait  in  the  Arabian,  in  the 
Hebrew,  in  Greek,  Roman,  Norman,  English 
periods ;  no,  but  in  other  men  a  natural  firm 
ness.  The  men  did  not  see  beyond  the  need  of 


274  LECTURE   ON  THE   TIMES. 

the  hour.  They  planted  their  foot  strong,  and 
doubted  nothing.  We  mistrust  every  step  we 
take.  We  find  it  the  worst  thing  about  time, 
that  we  know  not  what  to  do  with  it.  We  are 
so  sharp-sighted  that  we  can  neither  work  nor 
think,  neither  read  Plato  nor  not  read  him. 

Then  there  is  what  is  called  «a  too  intellectual 
tendency.  Can  there  be  too  much  intellect  ? 
We  have  never  met  with  any  such  excess.  But 
the  criticism,  which  is  levelled  at  the  laws  and 
manners,  ends  in  thought,  without  causing  a 
new  method  of  life.  The  genius  of  the  day 
does  not  incline  to  a  deed,  but  to  a  beholding. 
It  is  not  that  men  do  not  wish  to  act ;  they  pine 
to  be  employed,  but  are  paralyzed  by  the  uncer 
tainty  what  they  should  do.  The  inadequacy 
of  the  work  to  the  faculties,  is  the  painful  per 
ception  which  keeps  them  still.  This  happens 
to  the  best.  Then,  talents  bring  their  usual 
temptations,  and  the  current  literature  and  po 
etry  with  perverse  ingenuity  draw  us  away  from 
life  to  solitude  and  meditation.  This  could  well 
be  borne,  if  it  were  great  and  involuntary ;  if 
the  men  were  ravished  by  their  thought,  and 
hurried  into  ascetic  extravagances.  Society 
could  then  manage  to  release  their  shoulder  from 
its  wheel,  and  grant  them  for  a  time  this  privi 
lege  of  sabbath.  But  they  are  not  so.  Think- 


LECTURE  ON  THE  TIMES.         275 

ing,  which  was  a  rage,  is  become  an  art.  The 
thinker  gives  me  results,  and  never  invites  me 
to  be  present  with  him  at  his  invocation  of  truth, 
and  to  enjoy  with  him  its  proceeding  into  his 
mind. 

So  little  action  amidst  such  audacious  and 
yet  sincere  profession,  that  we  begin  to  doubt  if 
that  great  revolution  in  the  art  of  war,  which  has 
made  it  a  game  of  posts  instead  of  a  game  of 
battles,  has  not  operated  on  Reform;  whether 
this  be  not  also  a  war  of  posts,  a  paper  blockade, 
in  which  each  party  is  to  display  the  utmost  re 
sources  of  his  spirit  and  belief,  and  no  conflict 
occur  ;  but  the  world  shall  take  that  course 
which  the  demonstration  of  the  truth  shall  indi 
cate. 

But  we  must  pay  for  being  too  intellectual,  as 
they  call  it.  People  are  not  as  light-hearted  for 
it.  I  think  men  never  loved  life  less.  I  ques 
tion  if  care  and  doubt  ever  wrote  their  names  so 
legibly  on  the  faces  of  any  population.  This 
Ennui,  for  which  we  Saxons  had  no  name,  this 
WT>rd  of  France  has  got  a  terrific  significance. 
It  shortens  life,  and  bereaves  the  day  of  its  light. 
Old  age  begins  in  the  nursery,  and  before  the 
young  American  is  put  into  jacket  and  trow- 
sers,  he  says,  '  I  want  something  which  I  never 
saw  before ; '  and  '  I  wish  I  was  not  I.'  I  have 


276  LECTURE   ON  THE   TIMES. 

seen  the  same  gloom  on  the  brow  even  of  those 
adventurers  from  the  intellectual  class,  who  had 
dived  deepest  and  with  most  success  into  active 
life.  I  have  seen  the  authentic  sign  of  anxiety 
and  perplexity  on  the  greatest  forehead  of  the 
state.  The  canker  worms  have  crawled  to  the 
topmost  bough  of  the  wild  elm,  and  swing  down 
from  that.  Is  there  less  oxygen  in  the  atmos 
phere  ?  What  has  checked  in  this  age  the  ani 
mal  spirits  which  gave  to  our  forefathers  their 
bounding  pulse  ? 

But  have  a  little  patience  with  this  melan 
choly  humor.  Their  unbelief  arises  out  of  a 
greater  Belief ;  their  inaction  out  of  a  scorn  of 
inadequate  action.  By  the  side  of  these  men, 
the  hot  agitators  have  a  certain  cheap  and  ridic 
ulous  air  ;  they  even-  look  smaller  than  the 
others.  Of  the  two,  I  own,  I  like  the  specu 
lators  best.  They  have  some  piety  which  looks 
with  faith  to  a  fair  Future,  unprofaned  by  rash 
and  unequal  attempts  to  realize  it.  And  truly 
we  shall  find  much  to  console  us,  when  we  con 
sider  the  cause  of  their  uneasiness.  It  is  the 
love  of  greatness,  it  is  the  need  of  harmony,  the 
contrast  of  the  dwarfish  Actual  with  the  exorbi 
tant  Idea.  No  man  can  compare  the  ideas  and 
aspirations  of  the  innovators  of  the  present  day, 
with  those  of  former  periods,  without  feeling 


LECTURE   ON  THE   TIMES.  277 

how  great  and  high  this  criticism  is.  The  revo 
lutions  that  impend  over  society  are  not  now 
from  ambition  and  rapacity,  from  impatience  of 
one  or  another  form  of  government,  but  from 
new  modes  of  thinking,  which  shall  recompose 
society  after  a  new  order,  which  shall  animate 
labor  by  love  and  science,  which  shall  destroy 
the  value  of  many  kinds  of  property,  and  re 
place  all  property  within  the  dominion  of  reason 
and  equity.  There  was  never  so  great  a  thought 
laboring  in  the  breasts  of  men,  as  now.  It  al 
most  seems  as  if  what  was  aforetime  spoken 
fabulously  and  hieroglyphically,  was  now  spoken 
plainly,  the  doctrine,  namely,  of  the  indwelling 
of  the  Creator  in  man.  The  spiritualist  wishes 
this  only,  that  the  spiritual  principle  should  be 
suffered  to  demonstrate  itself  to  the  end,  in  all 
possible  applications  to  the  state  of  man,  with 
out  the  admission  of  anything  unspiritual,  that 
is,  anything  positive,  dogmatic,  or  personal.  The 
excellence  of  this  class  consists  in  this,  that  they 
have  believed ;  that,  affirming  the  need  of  new 
and  higher  modes  of  living  and  action,  they 
have  abstained  from  the  recommendation  of 
low  methods.  Their  fault  is  that  they  have 
stopped  at  the  intellectual  perception ;  that  their 
will  is  not  yet  inspired  from  the  Fountain  of 
Love.  But  whose  fault  is  this?  and  what  a 
24 


278  LECTUEE   ON   THE   TIMES. 

fault,  and  to  what  inquiry  does  it  lead !  We 
have  come  to  that  which  is  the  spring  of  all  pow 
er,  of  beauty  and  virtue,  of  art  and  poetry ;  and 
>vho  shall  tell  us  according  to  what  law  its  in 
spirations  and  its  informations  are  given  or  with- 
holden  ? 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  guilty  of  the  narrowness 
and  pedantry  of  inferring  the  tendency  and  ge 
nius  of  the  Age  from  a  few  and  insufficient  facts 
or  persons.  Every  age  has  a  thousand  sides 
and  signs  and  tendencies ;  and  it  is  only  when 
surveyed  from  inferior  points  of  view,  that  great 
varieties  of  character  appear.  Our  time  too  is 
full  of  activity  and  performance.  Is  there  not 
something  comprehensive  in  the  grasp  of  a  so 
ciety  which  to  great  mechanical  invention,  and 
the  best  institutions  of  property,  adds  the  most 
daring  theories  ;  which  explores  the  subtlest  and 
most  universal  problems  ?  At  the  manifest  risk 
of  repeating  what  every  other  Age  has  thought 
of  itself,  we  might  say,  we  think  the  Genius  of 
this  Age  more  philosophical  than  any  other  has 
been,  righter  in  its  aims,  truer,  with  less  fear,  less 
fable,  less  mixture  of  any  sort. 

But  turn  it  how  we  will,  as  we  ponder  this 
meaning  of  the  times,  every  new  thought  drives 
us  to  the  deep  fact,  that  the  Time  is  the  child  of 
the  Eternity.  The  main  interest  which  any 


LECTURE   ON   THE   TIMES.  279 

aspects  of  the  Times  can  have  for  us,  is  the  great 
spirit  which  gazes  through  them,  the  light  which 
they  can  shed  on  the  wonderful  questions,  What 
we  are  ?  and  Whither  we  tend  ?  We  do  not 
wish  to  be  deceived.  Here  we  drift,  like  white 
sail  across  the  wild  ocean,  now  bright  on  the 
wave,  now  darkling  in  the  trough  of  the  sea ;  — 
but  from  what  port  did  we  sail  ?  Who  knows  ? 
Or  to  what  port  are  we  bound  ?  Who  knows  ? 
There  is  no  one  tO  tell  us  but  such  poor  weather- 
tossed  mariners  as  ourselves,  whom  we  speak  as 
we  pass,  or  who  have  hoisted  some  signal,  or 
floated  £o  us  some  letter  in  a  bottle  from  far. 
But  what  know  they  more  than  we?  They 
also  found  themselves  on  this  wondrous  sea. 
No ;  from  the  older  sailors,  nothing.  Over  all 
their  speaking-trumpets,  the  gray -sea  and  the 
loud  winds  answer,  Not  in  us ;  not  in  Time. 
Where  then  but  in  Ourselves,  where  but  in  that 
Thought  through  which  we  communicate  with 
absolute  nature,  and  are  made  aware  that,  whilst 
we  shed  the  dust  of  which  we  are  built,  grain 
by  grain,  till  it  is  all  gone,  the  law  which  clothes 
us  with  humanity  remains  anew  ?  where,  but  in 
the  intuitions  which  are  vouchsafed  us  from 
within,  shall  we  learn  the  Truth  ?  Faithless, 
faithless,  we  fancy  that  with  the  dust  we  depart 
and  are  not ;  and  do  not  know  that  the  law  and 


280  LECTUKE   ON   THE   TIMES. 

the  perception  of  the  law  are  at  last  one ;  that 
only  as  much  as  the  law  enters  us,  becomes  us, 
we  are  living  men, —  immortal  with  the  immor 
tality  of  this  law.  Underneath  all  these  appear 
ances,  lies  that  which  is,  that  which  lives,  that 
which  causes.  This  ever  renewing  generation 
of  appearances  rests  on  a  reality,  and  a  reality 
that  is  alive. 

To  a  true  scholar  the  attraction  of  the  aspects 
of  nature,  the  departments  of  4ife,  and  the  pas 
sages  of  his  experience,  is  simply  the  informa 
tion  they  yield  him  of  this  supreme  nature  which 
lurks  within  all.  That  reality,  that  causing  force 
is  moral.  The  Moral  Sentiment  is  but  its  other 
name.  It  makes  by  its  presence  or  absence 
right  and  wrong,  beauty  and  ugliness,  genius  or 
depravation.  As  the  granite  comes  to  the  sur 
face,  and  towers  into  the  highest  mountains,  and, 
if  we  dig  down,  we  find  it  below  the  superficial 
strata,  so  in  all  the  details  of  our  domestic  or 
civil  life,  is  hidden  the  elemental  reality,  which 
ever  and  anon  comes  to  the  surface,  and  forms 
the  grand  men,  who  are  the  leaders  and  exam 
ples,  rather  than  the  companions  of  the  race. 
The  granite  is  curiously  'concealed  under  a  thou 
sand  formations  and  surfaces,  under  fertile  soils, 
and  grasses,  and  flowers,  under  well-manured, 
arable  fields,  and  large  towns  and  cities,  but  it 


LECTURE   ON   THE   TIMES.  281 

makes  the  foundation  of  these,  and  is  always  in 
dicating  its  presence  by  slight  but  sure  signs. 
So  is  it  with  the  Life  of  our  life  ;  so  close  does 
that  also  hide.  I  read  it  in  glad  an  din  weeping 
eyes :  I  read  it  in  the  pride  and  in  the  humility 
of  peoples  it  is  recognized  in  every  bargain  and 
in  every  complaisance,  in  every  criticism,  and  in 
all  praise :  it  is  voted  for  'at  elections ;  it  wins 
the  cause  with  juries ;  it  rides  the  stormy  elo 
quence  of  the  senate,  sole  victor ;  histories  are 
written  of  it,  holidays  decreed  to  it ;  statues, 
tombs,  churches,  built  to  its  honor;  yet  men 
seem  to  fear  and  to  shun  it,  when  it  comes 
barely  to  view  in  our  immediate  neighborhood. 

For  that  reality  let  us  stand :  that  let  us  serve : 
and  for  that  speak.  Only  as  far  as  that  shines 
through  them,  are  these  times  or  any  times  worth 
consideration.  I  wish  to  speak  of  the  politics, 
education,  business,  and  religion  around  us,  with 
out  ceremony  or  false  deference.  You  will 
absolve  me  from  the  charge  of  flippancy,  or  ma 
lignity,  or  the  desire  to  say  smart  things  at  the 
expense  of  whomsoever,  when  you  see  that 
reality  is  all  we  prize,  and  that  we  are  bound  on 
our  entrance  into  nature  to  speak  for  that.  Let 
it  not  be  recorded  in  our  own  memories,  that  in 
this  moment  of  the  Eternity,  when  we  who 
were  named  by  our  names,  flitted  across  the 
24* 


282  LECTURE   ON  THE   TIMES. 

light,  we  were  afraid  of  any  fact,  or  disgraced 
the  fair  Day  by  a  pusillanimous  preference  of 
our  bread  to  our  freedom.  What  is  the  scholar, 
what  is  the  man /or,  but  for  hospitality  to  every 
new  thought  of  his  time  ?  Have  you  leisure, 
power,  property,  Mends?  you  shall  be  the  asy 
lum  and  patron  of  every  new  thought,  every 
unproven  opinion-,  every  untried  project,  which 
proceeds  out  of  good  will  and  honest  seeking. 
All  the  newspapers,  all  the  tongues  of  to-day 
will  of  course  at  first  defame  what  is  noble  ;  but 
you  who  hold  not  of  to-day,  not  of  the  times, 
but  of  the  Everlasting,  are  to  stand  for  it :  and 
the  highest  compliment  man  ever  receives  from 
heaven,  is  the  sending  to  him  its  disguised  and 
discredited  angels. 


THE  CONSERVATIVE. 

A  LECTURE    DELIVERED  AT    THE  MASONIC  TEMPLE,    BOSTON, 
DECEMBER  9,   1841. 


THE  CONSERVATIVE. 


THE-  two  parties  which  divide  the  state,  the 
party  of  Conservatism  and  that  of  Innovation, 
are  very  old,  and  have  disputed  the  possession 
of  the  world  ever  since  it  was  made.  This 
quarrel  is  the  subject  of  civil  history.  The  con 
servative  party  established  the  reverend  hierar 
chies  and  monarchies  of  the  most  ancient  world. 
The  battte  of  patrician  and  plebeian,  of  parent 
state  and  colony,  of  old  usage  and  accommodation 
to  new  facts,  of  the  rich  and  the  poor,  reappears 
in  all  countries  and  times.  The  war  rages  not 
only  in  battle-fields,  in  national  councils,  and 
ecclesiastical  synods,  but  agitates  every  man's 
bosom  with  opposing  advantages  every  hour. 
On  rolls  the  old  world  meantime,  and  now  one, 
now  the  other  gets  the  day,  and  still  the  fight 
renews  itself  as  if  for  the  first  time,  under  new 
names  and  hot  personalities. 


286  THE   CONSERVATIVE. 

Such  an  irreconcilable  antagonism,  of  course, 
must  have  a  correspondent  depth  of  seat  in  the 
human  constitution.  It  is  the  opposition  of  Past 
and  Future,  of  Memory  and  Hope,  of  the  Under 
standing  and  the  Reason.  It  is  the  primal  anta 
gonism,  the  appearance  in  trifles  of  the  two  poles 
of  nature. 

There  is  a  fragment  of  old  fable  which  seems 
somehow  to^have  been  dropped  from  the  current 
mythologies,  which  may  deserve  attention,  as  it 
appears  to  relate  to  this  subject. 

Saturn  grew  weary  of  sitting  alone,  or  with 
none  but  the  great  Uranus  or  Heaven  beholding 
him,  and  he  created  an  oyster.  Then  he  would 
act  again,  but  he  made  nothing  more,  but  went 
on  creating  the  race  of  oysters.  Then  Uranus 
cried,  '  a  new  work,  O  Saturn  !  the .  old  is  not 
good  again.' 

Saturn  replied.  £  I  fear.  There  is  not  only 
the  alternative  of  making  and  not  making,  but 
also  of  unmaking.  Seest  thou  the  great  sea, 
how  it  ebbs  and  flows  ?  so  is  it  with  me ;  my 
power  ebbs  ;  and  if  I  put  forth  my  hands,  I  shall 
not  do,  but  undo.  Therefore  I  do  what  I  have 
•done  ;  I  hold  what  I  have  got ;  and  so  I  resist 
Night  and  Chaos.' 

4  O  Saturn,'  replied  Uranus,  <  thou  canst  not 
hold  thine  own,  but  by  making  more.  Thy 


THE    CONSERVATIVE.  287 

oysters  are  barnacles  and  cockles,  and  with  the 
next  flowing  of  the  tide,  they  will  be  pebbles 
and  sea-foam.' 

'I  see,'  rejoins  Saturn,  'thou  art  in  league 
with  Night,  thou  art  become  an  evil  eye ;  ihou 
spakest  from  love ;  now  thy  words  smite  me 
with  hatred.  I  appeal  to  Fate,  must  there  not 
be  rest  ?' —  'I  appeal  to  Fate  also,'  said  Uranus, 
4  must  there  not  be  motion  ?  '  —  But  Saturn  was 
silent,  and  went  on  making  oysters  for  a  thou 
sand  years. 

After  that,  the  word  of  Uranus  came  into  his 
mind  like  a  ray  of  the  sun,  and  he  made  Jupiter ; 
and  then  he  feared  again ;  and  nature  froze,  the 
things  that  were  made  went  backward,  and,  to 
save  the  world,  Jupiter  slew  his  father  Saturn. 

This  may  stand  for  the  earliest  account  of  a 
conversation  on  politics  between  a  Conservative 
and  a  Radical,  which  ha*s  come  down  to  us.  It 
is  ever  thus.  It  is  the  counteraction  of  the  cen 
tripetal  and  the  centrifugal  forces.  Innovation 
is  the  salient  energy ;  Conservatism  the  pause 
on  the  last  movement.  '  That  which  is  was 
made  by  God,'  saith  Conservatism.  'He  is 
leaving  that,  he  is  entering  this  other ; '  rejoins 
Innovation. 

There  is  always  a  certain  meanness  in  the 
argument  of  conservatism,  joined  with  a  certain 


288  THE    CONSERVATIVE. 

superiority  in  its  fact.  It  affirms  because  it 
holds.  Its  fingers  clutch  the  fact,  and  it  will 
not  open  its  eyes  to  see  a  better  fact.  The 
castle,  which  conservatism  is  set  to  defend,  is 
}  the  actual  state  of  things,  good  and  bad.  The 
i  project  of  innovation  is  the  best  possible  state  of 
|  things.  Of  course,  conservatism  always  has  the 
worst  of  the  argument,  is  always  apologizing, 
pleading  a  necessity,  pleading  that  to  change 
would  be  to  deteriorate ;  it  must  saddle  itself 
with  the  mountainous  load  of  the  violence  and 
vice  of  society,  must  deny  the  possibility  of 
good,  deny  ideas,  and  suspect  and  stone  the 
prophet ;  whilst  innovation  is  always  in  the 
right,  triumphant,  attacking,  and  sure  of  final 
success.  Conservatism  stands  on  man's  con 
fessed  limitations;  reform  on  his  indisputable 
infinitude ;  conservatism  on  circumstance ;  liber 
alism  on  power ;  one  goes  to  make  an  adroit 
member  of  the  social  frame ;  the  other  to  post 
pone  all  things  to  the  man  himself ;  conservatism 
is  debonnair  and  social ;  reform  is  individual  and 
imperious.  We  are  reformers  in  spring  and 
summer ;  in  autumn  and  winter,  we  stand  by  the 
old;  reformers  in  the  morning,  conservers  at 
night.  Reform  is  affirmative,  conservatism  neg 
ative  ;  conservatism  goes  for  comfort,  reform  for 
truth.  Conservatism  is  more  candid  to  behold 


THE    CONSERVATIVE.  289 

another's  worth  ;  reform  more  disposed  to  main 
tain  and  increase  its  own.  Conservatism  makes 
no  poetry,  breathes  no  prayer,  has  no  invention ; 
it  is  all  memory.  Reform  has  no  gratitude,  no 
prudence,  no  husbandry.  It  makes  a  great  dif 
ference  to  your  figure  and  to  your  thought, 
whether  your  foot  is  advancing  or  receding. 
Conservatism  never  puts  the  foot  forward;  in 
the  hour  when  it  does  that,  it  is  not  establish 
ment,  but  reform.  Conservatism  tends  to  uni 
versal  seeming  and  treachery,  believes  in  a 
negative  fate  ;  believes  that  men's  temper  gov 
erns  them ;  that  for  me,  it  avails  not  to  trust 
in.  principles  ;  they  will  fail  me ;  I  must  bend  a 
little  ;  it  distrusts  nature ;  it  thinks  there  is  a 
general  law  Without  a  particular  application,  — 
law  for  all  that  does  not  include  any  one.  Re 
form  in  its  antagonism  inclines  to  asinine  resist 
ance,  to  kick  with  hoofs  ;  it  runs  to  egotism  and 
bloated  self-conceit;  it  runs  to  a  bodiless  pre 
tension,  to  unnatural  refining  and  elevation, 
which  ends  in  hypocrisy  and  sensual  reaction. 

And  so  whilst  we  do  not  go  beyond  general 
statements,  it  may  be  safely  affirmed  of  these 
two  metaphysical  antagonists,  that  each  is  a 
good  half,  but  an  impossible  whole.  Each  ex 
poses  the  abuses  of  the  other,  but  in  a  true 
society,  in  a  true  man,  both  must  combine.  Na- 
25 


290  THE    CONSEKVATIVE. 

tore  does  not  give  the  crown  of  its  approbation, 
namely,  beauty,  to  any  action  or  emblem  or 
actor,  but  to  one  which  combines  both  these 
elements ;  not  to  the  rock  which  resists  the 
waves  from  age  to  age,  nor  to  the  wave  which 
lashes  incessantly  the  rock,  but  the  superior 
beauty  is  with  the  oak  which  stands  with  its 
hundred  arms  against  the  storms  of  a  century, 
and  grows  every  year  like  a  sapling ;  or  the 
river  which  ever  flowing,  -yet  is  found  in  the 
same  bed  from  age  to  age ;  or,  greatest  of  all, 
the  man  who  has  subsisted  for  years  amid  the 
changes  of  nature,  yet  has  distanced  himself,  so 
that  when  you  remember  what  he  was,  and  see 
what  .he  is,  you  say,  what  strides !  what  a  dis 
parity  is  here ! 

Throughout  nature  the  past  combines  iruevery 
creature  with  the  present.  Each  of  the  convo 
lutions  of  the  sea-shell,  each  node  and  spine  marks 
one  year  of  the  fish's  life,  what  was  the  mouth 
of  the  shell  for  one  season,  with  the  addition  of 
new  matter  by  the  growth  of  the  animal,  be 
coming  an  ornamental  node.  The  leaves  and 
a  shell  of  soft  wood  are  all  that  the  vegetation  of 
this  summer  has  made,  but  the  solid  columnar 
stem,  which  lifts  that  bank  of  foliage  -  into  the 
air  to  draw  the  eye  and  to  cool  us  with  its  shade, 
is  the  gift  and  legacy  of  dead  and  buried  years. 


THE   CONSERVATIVE.  291 

In  nature,  each  of  these  elements  being  always 
present,  each  theory  has  a  natural  support.  As 
we  take  our  stand  on  Necessity,  or  on  Ethics, 
shall  we  go  for  the  conservative,  or  for  the  re 
former.  If  we  read  the  world  historically,  we 
shall  say,  Of  all  the  ages,  the  present  hour  and 
circumstance  is  the  cumulative  result;  this  is 
the  best  throw  of  the  dice  of  nature  that  has 
yet  been,  or  tha£  is  yet  possible.  If  we  see  it 
from  the  side  of  Will,  or  the  Moral  Sentiment, 
we  shall  accuse  the  Past  and  the  Present,  and 
require  the  impossible  of  the  Future. 

But  although  this  bifold  fact  lies  thus  united 
in  real  nature,  and  so  united  that  no  man  can 
continue  to  exist  in  whom  both  these  elements 
do  not  work,  yet  men  are  not  philosophers,  but 
are  rather  very  foolish  children,  who,  by  reason 
of  their  partiality,  see  everything  in  the  most 
absurd  manner,  and  are  the  victims  at  all 
times  of  the  nearest  object.  There  is  even  no 
philosopher  who  is  a  philosopher  at  all  times. 
Our  experience,  our  perception  is  conditioned  by 
the  need  to  acquire  in  parts  and  in  succession, 
that  is,  with  every  truth  a  certain  falsehood.  As 
this  is  the  invariable  method  of  our  training,  we 
must  give  it  allowance,  and  suffer  men  to  learn 
as  they  have  done  for  six  millenniums,  a  word 
at  a  time,  to  pair  off  into  insane  parties,  and 


292  THE   CONSERVATIVE. 

learn  the  amount  of  truth  each  knows,  by  the 
denial  of  an  equal  amount  of  truth.  For  the 
present,  then,  to  come  at  what  sum  is  attainable 
to  us,  we  must  even  hear  the  parties  plead  as 
parties. 

That  which  is  best  about  conservatism,  that 
which,  though  it  cannot  be  expressed  in  detail, 
inspires  reverence  in  all,  is  the  Inevitable.  There 
is  the  question  not  only,  what*the  conservative 
says  for  himself  ?  but,  why  must  he  say  it  ?  What 
insurmountable  fact  binds  him  to  that  side  ?  Here 
is  the  fact  which  men  call  Fate,  and  fate  in  dread 
degrees,  fate  behind  fate,  not  to  be  disposed  of 
by  the  consideration  that  the  Conscience  com 
mands  this  or  that,  but  necessitating  the  ques 
tion,  whether  the  faculties  of  man  will  play  him 
true  in  resisting  the  facts  of  universal  experience  ? 
For  although  the  commands  of  the  Conscience 
are  essentially  absolute,  they  are  historically 
limitary.  Wisdom  does  not  seek  a  literal  recti 
tude,  but  an  useful,  that  is,  a  conditioned  one, 
such  a  one  as  the  faculties  of  man  and  the  con 
stitution  of  things  will  warrant.  The  reformer, 
the  partisan  loses  himself  in  driving  to  the  ut 
most  some  specialty  of  right  conduct,  until  his 
own  nature  and  all  nature  resist  him  ;  but  Wis 
dom  attempts'  nothing  enormous  and  dispropor- 
tioned  to  its  powers,  nothing  which  it  cannot 


THE   CONSERVATIVE.  293 

perform  or  nearly  perform.  We  have  all  a  cer 
tain  intellection  or  presentiment  of  reform  exist 
ing  in  the  mind,  which  does  not  yet  descend 
into  the  character,  and  those  who  throw  them 
selves  blindly  on  this  lose  themselves.  What 
ever  they  attempt  in  that  direction,  fails,  and 
reacts  suicidally  on  the  actor  himself.  This  is 
the  penalty  of  having  transcended  nature.  For 
the  existing  world  is  not  a  dream,  and  cannot 
with  impunity  be  treated  as  a  dream ;  neither  is 
it  a  disease  ;  but  it  is  the  ground  on  which  you 
stand,  it  is  the  mother  of  whom  you  were  born. 
Keform  converses  with  possibilities,  perchance 
with  impossibilities ;  but  here  is  sacred  fact. 
This  also  was  true,  or  it  could  not  be :  it  had 
life  in  it,  or  it  could  not  have  existed ;  it  has  life 
in  it,  or  it  could  not  continue.  Your  schemes 
may  be  feasible,  or  may  not  be,  but  this  has  the 
endorsement  of  nature  and  a  long  friendship  and 
cohabitation  with  "the  powers  of  nature.  This 
will  stand  until  a  better  cast  of  the  dice  is  made. 
The  contest  between  the  Future  and  the  Past  is 
one  between  Divinity  entering,  and  Divinity 
departing.  You  are  welcome  to  try  your  experi 
ments,  and,  if  you  can,  to  displace  the  actual 
order  by  that  ideal  republic  you  announce,  for 
nothing  but  God  will  expel  God.  But  plainly 
the  burden  of  proof  must  lie  with  the  projector. 
25* 


294  THE   CONSERVATIVE. 

We  hold  to  this,  until  you  can  demonstrate 
something  better. 

The  system  of  property  and  law  goes  back  for 
its  origin  to  barbarous  and  sacred  times ;  it  is  the 
fruit  of  the  same  mysterious  cause  as  the  mineral 
or  animal  world.  There  is  a  natural  sentiment 
and  prepossession  in  favor  of  age,  "of  ancestors, 
of  barbarous  and  aboriginal  usages,  which  is  a 
homage  to  the  element  of  necessity  and  divinity 
which  is  in  them.  The  respect  for  the  old  names 
of  places,  of  mountains,  and  streams,  is  universal. 
The  Indian  and  barbarous  name  can  never  be 
supplanted  without  loss.  The  ancients  tell  us 
that  the  gods  loved  the  Ethiopians  for  their  sta 
ble  customs ;  and  the  Egyptians  and  Chaldeans, 
whose  origin  could  not  be  explored,  passed 
among  the  junior  tribes  of  Greece  and  Italy  for 
sacred  nations. 

Moreover,  so  deep  is  the  foundation  of  the  ex 
isting  social  system,  that  it  leaves  no  one  out  of 
it.  We  may  be  partial,  but  Fate  is  not.  All 
men  have  their  root  in  it.  You  who  quarrel 
with  the  arrangements  of  society,  and  are  willing 
to  embroil  all,  and  risk  the  indisputable  good 
that  exists,  for  the  chance  of  better,  live,  move, 
and  have  your  being  in  this,  and  your  deeds  con 
tradict  your  words  every  day.  For  as  you  can 
not  jump  from  the  ground  without  using  the 


THE   CONSERVATIVE.  295 

resistance  of  the  ground,  nor  put  out  the  boat  to 
sea,  without  shoving  from  the  shore,  nor  attain 
liberty  without  rejecting  obligation,  so"  you  are 
under  the  necessity  of  using  the  Actual  order  of 
things,  in  order  to  disuse  it ;  to  live  by  it,  whilst 
you  wish  to  take  away  its  life.  The  past  has 
baked  your  loaf,  and  in  the  strength  of  its  bread 
you  would  break  up  the  oven.  But  you  are  be 
trayed  by  your  own  nature.  You  also  are  con 
servatives.  However  men  please  to  style  them 
selves,  I  see  no  other  than  a  conservative  party. 
You  are  not  only  identical  with  us  in  your 
needs,  but  also  in  your  methods  and  aims. 
You  quarrel  with  my  conservatism,  but  it  is  to 
build  up  one  of  your  own ;  it  will  have  a  new 
beginning,  but  the  same  course  and  end,  the 
same  trials,  the  same  passions  ;  among  the  lov 
ers  of  the  new  I  observe  that  there  is  a  jealousy 
of  the  newest,  and  that  the  seceder  from  the 
seceder  is  as  damnable  as  the  pope  himself. 

On  these  and  the  like  grounds  of  general  state 
ment,  conservatism  plants  itself  without  danger 
of  being  displaced.  Especially  before  this  per 
sonal  appeal,  the  innovator  must  confess  his 
weakness,  must  confess  that  no  man  is  to  .be 
found  good  enough  to  be  entitled  to  stand  cham 
pion  for  the  principle.  But  when  this  great 
tendency  comes  to  practical  encounters,  and  is 


296  THE   CONSERVATIVE. 

challenged  by  young  men,  to  whom  it  is  no  ab 
straction,  but  a  fact  of  hunger,  distress,  and 
exclusion  from  opportunities,  it  must  needs  seem 
injurious.  The  youth,  of  course,  is  an  innovator 
by  the  fact  of  his  birth.  There  he  stands,  newly 
born  on  the  planet,  a  universal  beggar,  with  all 
the  reason  of  things,  one  would  say,  on  his  side. 
In  his  first  consideration  how  to  feed,  clothe, 
and  warm  himself,  he  is  met  by  warnings  on 
every  hand,  that  this  thing  and  that  thing  have 
owners,  and  he  must  go  elsewhere.  Then  he 
says ;  If  I  am  born  in  the  earth,  where  is  my 
part?  have  the  goodness,  gentlemen  of  this 
world,  to  show  me  my  wood-lot,  where  I  may  fell 
my  wood,  my  field  where  to  plant  my  corn,  my 
pleasant  ground  wffere  to  build  my  cabin. 

4  Touch  any  wood,  or  field,  or  house-lot,  on 
your  peril,'  cry  all  the  gentlemen  of  this  world ; 
'  but  you  may  come  and  work  in  ours,  for  us, 
and  we  wih1  give  you  a  piece  of  bread.' 

And  what  is  that  peril  ? 

Knives  and  muskets,  if  we  meet  you  in  the 
act ;  imprisonment,  if  we  find  you  afterward. 

And  by  what  authority,  kind  gentlemen  ? 

By  our  law. 

And  your  law,  —  is  it  just  ? 

As  just  for  you  as  it  was  for  us.  We  wrought 
for  others  under  this  law,  and  got  our  lands  so. 


THE   CONSERVATIVE.  297 

I  repeat  the  question.  Is  your  law  just  ? 

Not  quite  just,  but  necessary.  Moreover,  it  is 
juster  now  than  it  was  when  we  were  born ;  we 
have  made  it  milder  and  more  equal. 

I  will  none  of  your  law,  returns  the  youth ; 
it  encumbers  me.  I  cannot  understand,  or  so 
much  as  spare  time  to  read  that  needless  library 
of  your  laws.  Nature  has  sufficiently  provided 
me  with  rewards  and  sharp  penalties,  to  bind  me 
not  to  transgress.  Like  the  Persian  noble  of 
old,  I  ask  "that  I  may  neither  command  nor 
obey."  I  do  not  wish  to  enter  into  your  com 
plex  social  system.  I  shall  serve  those  whom  I 
can,  and  they  who  can  will  serve  me.  I  shall 
seek  those  whom  I  love,  and  shun  those  whom 
I  love  not,  and  what  more  'can  all  your  laws 
render  me  ? 

With  equal  earnestness  and  good  faith,  replies 
to  this  plaintiff  an  upholder  of  the  establishment, 
a  man  of  many  virtues  : 

Your  opposition  is  feather-brained  and  over- 
fine.  Young  man,  I  have  no  skill  to  talk  with 
you,  but  look  at  me ;  I  have  risen  early  and  sat 
late,  and  toiled  honestly,  and  painfully  for  very 
many  years.  I  never  dreamed  about  methods  ; 
I  laid  my  bones  to,  and  drudged  for  the  good  I 
possess ;  it  was  not  got  by  fraud,  nor  by  luck, 
but  by  work,  and  you  must  show  me  a  warrant 


298  THE  CONSERVATIVE. 

like  these  stubborn  facts  in  your  own  fidelity 
and  labor,  before  I  suffer  you,  on  the  faith  of  a 
few  fine  words,  to  ride  into  my  estate,  and  claim 
to  scatter  it  as  your  own. 

Now  you  touch  the  heart  of  the  matter,  re 
plies  the  reformer.  To  that  fidelity  and  labor,  I 
pay  homage.  I  am  unworthy  to  arraign  your 
manner  of  living,  until  I  too  have  been  tried. 
But  I  should  be  more  unworthy,  if  I  did  not 
tell  you  why  I  cannot  walk  in  your  steps.  I 
find  this  vast  network,  which  you  call  property, 
extended  over  the  whole  planet.  I  cannot  occu 
py  the  bleakest  crag  of  the  White  Hills  or  the 
Alleghany  Range,  but  some  'man  or  corporation 
steps  up  to  me  to  show  me  that  it  is  his.  Now, 
though  I  am  very  peaceable,  and  on  my  private 
account  could  well  enough  die,  since  it  appears 
there  was  some  mistake  in  my  creation,  and  that 
I  have  been  missent  to  this  earth,  where  all  the 
seats  were  already  taken,  —  yet  I  feel  called 
upon  in  behalf  of  rational  nature,  which  I  repre 
sent,  to  declare  to  you  my  opinion,  that,  if  the 
Earth  is  yours,  so  also  is  it  mine.  All  your  aggre 
gate  existences  are  less  to  me  a  fact  than  is  my 
own  ;  as  I  am  born  to  the  earth,  so  the  Earth  is 
given  to  me,  what  I  want  of  it  to  till  and  to  plant ; 
nor  could  I,  without  pusillanimity,  omit  to  clakn 
so  much.  I  must  not  only  have  a  name  to  live, 


THE   CONSERVATIVE.  299 

I  must  live.  My  genius  leads  me  to  build  a 
different  manner  of  life  from  any  of  yours.  I  can 
not  then  spare  you  the  whole  world.  I  love  you 
better.  I  must  tell  you  the  truth  practically; 
and  take  that  which  you  call  yours'.  It  is  God's 
world  and  mine ;  yours  as  much  as  you  want, 
mine  as  much  as  I  want.  Besides,  I  know  your 
ways ;  I  know  the  symptoms  of  the  disease. 
To  the  end  of  your  power,  you  will  serve  this 
lie  which  cheats  you.  Your  want  is  a  gulf  which 
the  possession  of  the  broad  earth  would  not  fill. 
Yonder  sun  in  heaven  you  would  pluck  down 
from  shining  on  the  universe,  and  make  him  a 
property  and  privacy,  if  you  could ;  and  the  moon 
and  the  north  star  you  would  quickly  have  occa 
sion  for  in  your  closet  and  bed-chamber.  What 
you  do  not  want  for  use,  you  crave  for  ornament, 
and  what  your  convenience  could  spare,  your 
pride  cannot. 

On  the  other  hand,  precisely  the  defence  which 
was  set  up  for  the  British  Constitution,  namely, 
that  with  all  its  admitted  defects,  rotten  boroughs 
and  monopolies,  it  worked  well,  and  substantial 
justice  was  somehow  done  ;  the  wisdom  and  the 
worth  did  get  into  parliament,  and  every  interest 
did  by  right,  or  might,  or  sleight,  get  repre 
sented; — the  same  defence  is  set  up  for  the 
existing  institutions.  They  are  not  the  best; 


300  THE   CONSERVATIVE. 

they  are  not  just ;  and  in  respect  to  you,  per 
sonally,  O  brave  young  man !  they  cannot  be 
justified.  They  have,  it  is  most  true,  left  you 
no  acre  for  your  own,  and  no  law  but  our  law, 
to  the  ordaining  of  which  you  were  no  party. 
But  they  do  answer  the  end,  they  are  really 
friendly  to  the  good ;  unfriendly  to  the  bad ; 
they  second  the  industrious,  and  the  kind ;  they 
foster  genius.  They  really  have  so  much  flexi 
bility  as  to  afford  your  talent  and  character,  on 
the  whole,  the  same  chance  of  demonstration 
and  success  which  they  might  have,  if  there  was 
no  law  and  no  property. 

It-  is  trivial  and  merely  superstitious  to  say 
that  nothing  is  given  you,  no  outfit,  no  exhibi 
tion  ;  for  in  this  institution  of  credit,  which  is  as 
universal  as  honesty  and  promise  in  the  human 
countenance,  always  some  neighbor  stands  ready 
to  be  bread  and  land  and  tools  and  stock  to  the 
young  adventurer.  And  if  in  any  one  respect 
they  have  come  short,  see  what  ample  retribu 
tion  of  good  they  have  made.  They  have  lost 
no  time  and  spared  no  expense  to  collect  libra 
ries,  museums,  galleries,  colleges,  palaces,  hos 
pitals,  observatories,  cities.  The  ages  have  not 
been  idle,  nor  kings  slack,  nor  the  rich  nig 
gardly.  Have  we  not  atoned  for  this  small 
offence  (which  we  could  not  help)  of  leaving 


THE   CONSERVATIVE.  301 

you  no  right  in  the  soil,  by  this  splendid  indem 
nity  of  ancestral  and  national  wealth  ?  Would 
you  have  been  born  like  a  gipsy  in  a  hedge,  and 
preferred  your  freedom  on  a  heath,  and  the 
range  of  a  planet  which  had  no  shed  or  boscage 
to  cover  you  from  sun  and  wind,  —  to  this  tow 
ered  and  citied  world  ?  to  this  world  of  Rome, 
and  Memphis,  and  Constantinople,  and  Vienna, 
and  Paris,  and  London,  and  New  York  ?  For 
thee  Naples,  Florence,  and  Venice,  for  thee  the 
fair  Mediterranean, the  sunny  Adriatic;  for  thee 
both  Indies  smile ;  for  thee  the  hospitable  North 
opens  its  heated  palaces  under  the  polar  circle  ; 
for  thee  roads  have  been  cut  in  every  direction 
across  the  land,  and  fleets  of  floating  palaces  with 
every  security  for  strength,  and  provision  for 
luxury,  swim  by  sail  and  by  steam  through  all 
the  waters  of  this  world.  Every  island  for  thee 
has  a  town ;  every  town  a  hotel.  Though  thou 
wast  born  landless,  yet  to  thy  industry  and 
thrift  and  small  condescension  to  the  established 
usage,  —  scores  of  servants  are  swarming  in 
every  strange  place  with  cap  and  knee  to  thy 
command,  scores,  nay  hundreds  and  thousands, 
for  thy  wardrobe,  thy  table,  thy  chamber,  thy 
library,  thy  leisure ;  and  every  whirn  is  antici 
pated  and  served  by  the  best  ability  of  the  whole 
population  of  each  country.  The  king  on  the 
26 


302  THE   CONSERVATIVE. 

throne  governs  for  thee,  and  the  judge  judges ; 
the  barrister  pleads  ;  the  farmer  tills,  the  joiner 
hammers,  the  postman  rides.  Is  it  not  •exagger 
ating  a  trifle  to  insist  on  a  formal  acknowledg 
ment  of  your  claims,  when  these  substantial 
advantages  have  been  secured  to  you  ?  Now 
can  your  children  be  educated,  your  labor  turned 
to  their  advantage,  and  its  fruits  secured  to  them 
after  your  death.  It  is  frivolous  to  say,  you  have 
no  acre,  because  you  have  not  a  mathematically 
measured  piece  of  land.  Providence  takes  care 
that  you  shall  have  a  place,  that  you  are  waited 
for,  and  come  accredited ;  and,  as  soon  as  you  put 
your  gift  to  use,  you  shall  have  acre  or  acre's 
worth  according  to  your  exhibition  of  desert,  — 
acre,  if  you  need  land; — acre's  worth,  if  you 
prefer  to  draw,  or  carve,  or  make  shoes,  or  wheels, 
to  the  tilling  of  the  soil. 

Besides,  it  might  temper  your  indignation  at 
the  supposed  wrong  which  society  has  done  you, 
to  keep  the  question  before  you,  how  society  got 
into  this  predicament  ?  Who  put  things  on  this 
false  basis  ?  No  single  man,,  but  all  men.  No 
man  voluntarily  and  knowingly;  but  it  is  the 
result  of  that  degree  of  culture  there  is  in  the 
planet.  The  order  of  things  is  as  good  as  the 
character  of  the  population  permits.  Consider 
it  as  the  work  of  a  great  and  beneficent  and  pro- 


THE   CONSERVATIVE.  303 

gressive  necessity,  which,  -from  the  first  pulsation 
of  the  first  animal  life,  up  to  the  present  high 
culture  of  the  best  nations,  has  advanced  thus 
far.  Thank  the  rude  fostermother  though  she 
has  taught  you  a  better  wisdom  than  her  own, 
and  has  set  hopes  in  your  heart  which  shall  be 
history  in  the  next  ages.  You  are  yourself  the 
result  of  this  manner  of  living,  this  foul  compro 
mise,  this  vituperated  Sodom.  It  nourished  you 
with  care  and  love  on  its  breast,  as  it  had  nour 
ished  many  a  lover  of  the  right,  and  many  a 
poet,  and  prophet,  and  teacher  of  men."  Is  it  so 
irremediably  bad  ?  Then  again,  if  the  mitiga 
tions  are  considered,  do  not  all  the  mischiefs 
virtually  vanish?  The  form  is  bad,  but  see  you 
not  how  every  personal  character  reacts  on  the 
form,  and  makes  it  new  ?  A  strong  person  makes 
the  law  and  custom  null  before  his  own  will. 
Then  the  principle  of  love  and  truth  reappears 
in  the  strictest  courts  of  fashion  and  property. 
Under  the  richest  robes,  in  the  darlings  of  the 
selectest  circles  of  European  or  American  aris 
tocracy,  the  strong  heart  will  beat  with  love  of 
mankind,  with  impatience  of  accidental  distinc 
tions,  with  the  desire  to  achieve  its  own  fate, 
and  make  every  ornament  it  wears  authentic  and 
real. 

Moreover,  as  we  have  already  shown  that  there 


304  THE   CONSERVATIVE. 

is  no  pure  reformer,  so  it  is  to  be  considered  that 
there  is  no  pure  conservative,  no  man  who  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his  life  maintains 
the  defective  institutions ;  but  he  who  sets  his 
face  like  a  flint  against  every  novelty,  when 
approached  in  the  confidence  of  conversation,  in 
the  presence  of  friendly  and  generous  persons, 
has  also  his  gracious  and  relenting  motions,  and 
espouses  for  the  time  the  cause  of  man  ;  and 
even  if  this  be  a  shortlived  emotion,  yet  the 
remembrance  of  it  in  private  hours  mitigates  his 
selfishness  and  compliance  with  custom. 

The  Friar  Bernard  lamented  in  his  cell  on 
Mount  Cenis  the  crimes  of  mankind,  and  rising 
one  morning  before  day  from  his  bed  of  moss 
and  dry  leaves,  he  gnawed  his  roots  and  berries, 
drank  of  the  spring,  ^nd  set  forth  to  go  to  Rome 
to  reform  the  corruption  of  mankind.  On  his 
way  he  encountered  many  travellers  who  greeted 
him  courteously ;  and  the  cabins  of  the  peasants 
and  the  castles  of  the  lords  supplied  his  few 
wants.  When  he  came  at  last  to  Rome,  his 
piety  and  good  will  easily  introduced  him  to 
many  families  of  the  rich,  and  on  the  first  day 
he  saw  and  talked  with  gentle  mothers  with 
their  babes  at  their  breasts,  who  told  him  how 
much  love  they  bore  their  children,  and  how 
they  were  perplexed  in  their  daily  walk  lest  they 


THE    CONSERVATIVE.  305 

should  fail  in  their  duty  to  them.  4  What ! '  he 
said,  4  and  this  on  rich  embroidered  carpets,  on 
marble  floors,  with  cunning  sculpture,  and  carved 
wood,  and  rich  pictures,  arid  piles  of  books  about 
you  ?  '  —  '  Look  at  our  pictures  and  books,  they 
said,  and  we  will  tell  you,  good  Father,  how  we 
spent  the  last  evening.  These  are  stories  of 
godly  children  and  holy  families  and  romantic 
sacrifices  made  in  old  or  in  recent  times  by  great 
and  not  mean  persons ;  and  last  evening,  our 
family  was  collected,  and  our  husbands  and 
brothers  discoursed  sadly  on  what  we  could  save 
and  give  in  the  hard  times.'  Then  came  in  the 
men,  and  they  said,  '  What  cheer,  brother  ? 
Does  thy  convent  want  gifts  ?  '  Then  the  friar 
Bernard  went  home  swiftly  with  other  thoughts 
than  he  brought,  saying,  '  This  way  of  life  is 
wrong,  yet  these  Romans,  whom  I  prayed  God 
to  destroy,  are  lovers,  they  are  lovers  ;  what  can 
I  do?' 

The  reformer  concedes  that  these  mitigations 
exist,  and  that,  if  he  proposed  comfort,  he  should 
take  sides  with  the  establishment.  Your  words 
are  excellent,  but  tliey  do  not  tell  the  whole. 
Conservatism  is  affluent  and  openhanded,  but 
there  is  a  cunning  juggle  in  riches.  I  observe 
that  they  take  somewhat  for  everything  they  give. 
I  look  bigger,  but  am  less  ;  I  have  more  clothes, 
26* 


306  THE   CONSERVATIVE. 

but  am  not  so  warm  ;  more  armor,  but  less  cou 
rage  ;  more  books,  but  less  wit.  What  you  say 
of  your  planted,  builded  and  decorated  world, 
is  true  enough,  and  I  gladly  avail  myself  of  its 
convenience  ;  yet  I  have  remarked  that  what 
holds  in  particular,  holds  in  .general,  that  the 
plant  Man  does  not  require  for  his  most  glorious 
flowering  this  pomp  of  preparation  and  conveni 
ence,  but  the  thoughts  of  some  beggarly  Homer 
who  strolled,  God  knows  when,  in  the  infancy 
and  barbarism  of  the  old  world ;  the  gravity  and 
sense  of  some  slave  Moses  who  leads  away  his 
fellow  slaves  from  their  masters ;  the  contem 
plation  of  some  Scythian  Anacharsis  ;  the  erect, 
formidable  valor  of  some  Dorian  townsmen  in 
the  town  of  Sparta;  the  vigor  of  Clovis  the 
Frank,  and  Alfred  the  Saxon,  and  Alaric  the 
Goth,  and  Mahomet,  Ali,  and  Omar  the  Arabians, 
Saladin  the  Curd,  and  Othman  the  Turk,  sufficed, 
to  build  what  you  call  society,  on  the  spot  and 
in  the  instant  when  the  sound  mind  in  a  sound 
body  appeared.  Rich  and  fine  is  your  dress,  O 
conservatism  !  your  horses  are  of  the  best  blood  ; 
your  roads  are  well  cut  and  well  paved ;  your 
pantry  is  full  of  meats  and  your  cellar  of  wines, 
and  a  very  good  state  and  condition  are  you  for 
gentkxiien  and  ladies  to  live  under ;  but  every 
one  of  these  goods  steals  away  a  drop  of  my 


THE   CONSERVATIVE.  807 

blood.  I  want  the  necessity  of  supplying  my 
own  wants.  All  this  costly  culture  of  yours  is 
not  necessary.  Greatness  does  not  need  it. 
Yonder  peasant,  who  sits  neglected  there  in  a 
corner,  carries  a  whole  revolution  of  man  and 
nature  in  his  head,  which  shall  be  a  sacred  his 
tory  to  some  future  ages.  For  man  is  the  end 
of  nature  ;  nothing  so  easily  organizes  itself  in 
every  part  of  the  universe  as  he ;  no  moss,  no 
lichen  is  so  easily  born ;  and  he  takes  along  with 
him  and  puts  out  from  himself  the  whole  appara 
tus  of  society  and  condition  extempore,  as  an  army 
encamps  in  a  desert,  and  where  all  was  just  now 
blowing  sand,  creates  a  white  city  in  an  hour,  a 
government,  a  market,  a  place  for  feasting,  for 
conversation,  and  for  love. 

These  considerations,  urged  by  those  whose 
characters  and  whose  fortunes  are  yet  to  be 
formed,  must  needs  command  the  sympathy  of 
all  reasonable  persons.  But  beside  that  charity 
which  should  make  all  adult  persons  interested 
for  the  youth,  and  engage  them  to  see  that  he 
has  a  free  field  and  fair  play  on  his  entrance  into 
life,  we  are  bound  to  see  that  the  society,  of 
which  we  compose  a  part,  does  not  permit  the 
formation  or  continuance  of  views*  and  practices 
injurious  to  the  honor  and  welfare  of  mankind 
The  objection  to  conservatism,  when  embodied 


808  THE   CONSERVATIVE. 

in  a  party,  is,  that  in  its  love  of  acts,  it  hates 
principles ;  it  lives  in  the  senses,  not  in  truth ; 
it  sacrifices  to  despair ;  it  goes  for  available- 
ness  in  its  candidate,  not  for  worth  ;  and  for 
expediency  in  its  measures,  and  not  for  the  right. 
Under  pretence  of  allowing  for  friction,  it  makes 
so  many  additions  and  supplements  to  the  ma 
chine  of  society,  that  it  will  play  smoothly  and 
softly,  but  will  no  longer  grind  any  grist. 

The  conservative  party  in  the  universe  con 
cedes  that  the  radical  would  talk  sufficiently  to 
the  purpose,  if  we  were  still  in  the  garden  of 
Eden  ;  he  legislates  for  man  as  he  ought  to  be ; 
his  theory  is  right,  but  he  makes  no  allowance 
for  friction ;  and  this  omission  makes  his  whole 
doctrine  false.  The  idealist  retorts,  that  the  con 
servative  falls  into  a  far  more  noxious  error  in 
the  other  extreme.  The  conservative  assumes 
sickness  as  a  necessity,  and  his  social  frame 
is  a  hospital,  his  total  legislation  is  for  the  pres 
ent  distress,  a  universe  in  slippers  and  flannels, 
with  bib  and  papspoon,  swallowing  pills  and 
herb-tea.  Sickness  gets  organized  as  well  as 
health,  the  vice  as  well  as  the  virtue.  Now  that 
a  vicious  system  of  trade  has  existed  so  long,  it 
has  stereotyped  itself  in  the  human  generation, 
and  misers  are  born.  And  now  that  sickness  has 
got  such  a  foothold,  leprosy  has  grown  cunning, 


THE   CONSERVATIVE.  809 

has  got  into  the  ballot-box ;  the  lepers  outvote 
the  clean ;  society  has  resolved  itself  into  a  Hos 
pital  Committee,  and  all  its  laws  are  quarantine. 
If  any  man  resist,  and  set  up  a  foolish  hope  he 
has  entertained  as  good  against  the  general  de 
spair,  society  frowns  on  him,  shuts  him  out 
of  her  opportunities,  her  granaries,  her  refecto 
ries,  her  water  and  bread,  and  will  serve  him  a 
sexton's  turn.  Conservatism  takes  as  low  a 
view  of  every  part  of  human  action  and  pas 
sion.  Its  religion  is  just  as  bad ;  a  lozenge 
for  the  sick ;  a  dolorous  tune  to  beguile  the 
distemper ;  mitigations  of  pain  by  pillows  and 
anodynes  ;  always  mitigations,  never  remedies ; 
pardons  for  sin,  funeral  honors,  —  never  self- 
help,  renovation,  and  virtue.  Its  social  arid 
political  action  has  no  better  aim  ;  to  keep 
out  wind  and  weather,  to  bring  the  day  and 
year  about,  and  make  the  world  last  our  day  ; 
not  to  sit  on  the  world  and  steer  it ;  not  to  sink 
the  memory  of  the  past  in  the  glory  of  a  new 
and  more  excellent  creation  ;  a  timid  cobbler  and 
patcher,  it  degrades  whatever  it  touches.  The 
cause  of  education  is  urged  in  this  country  with 
the  utmost  earnestness,  —  on  what  ground?  why 
on  this,  that  the  people  have  the  power,  and  if 
they  are  not  instructed  to  sympathize  with  the 
intelligent,  reading,  trading,  and  governing  class, 


310  THE   CONSERVATIVE. 

inspired  with  a  taste  for  the  same  competitions 
and  prizes,  they  will  upset  the  fair  pageant  of 
Judicature,  and  perhaps  lay  a  hand  on  the  sacred 
muniments  of  wealth  itself,  and  new  distribute 
the  land.  Religion  is  taught  in  the  same  spirit. 
The  contractors  who  were  building  a  road  out 
of  Baltimore,  some  years  ago,  found  the  Irish 
laborers  quarrelsome  and  refractory,  to  a  degree 
that  embarrassed  the  agents,  and  seriously  inter 
rupted  the  progress  of  the  work.  The  corpora 
tion  were  advised  to  call  off  the  police,  and  build 
a  Catholic  chapel;  which  they  did;  the  priest 
presently  restored  order,  and  the  work  went  on 
prosperously.  Such  hints,  be  sure,  are  too  valu 
able  to  be  lost.  If  you  do  not  value  the  Sab 
bath,  or  other  religious  institutions,  give  yourself 
no  concern  about  maintaining  them.  They  have 
already  acquired  a  market  value  as  conservators 
of  property ;  and  if  priest  and  church-member 
should  fail,  the  chambers  of  commerce  and  the 
presidents  of  the  Banks,  the  very  innholders  and 
landlords  of  the  county  would  muster  with  fury 
to  their  support. 

Of  course,  religion  in  such  hands  loses  its 
essence.  Instead  of  that  reliance,  which  the  soul 
suggests  on  the  eternity  of  truth  and  duty,  men 
are  misled  into  a  reliance  on  institutions,  which, 
the  moment  they  cease  to  be  the  instantaneous 


THE   CONSERVATIVE.  311 

creations  of  the  devout  sentiment,  are  worthless. 
Religion  among  the  low  becomes  low.  As  it 
loses  its  truth,  it  loses  credit  with  the  sagacious. 
They  detect  the  falsehood  of  the  preaching,  but 
when  they  say  so,  all  good  citizens  cry,  Hush ; 
do  not  weaken  the  state,  do  not  take  off  the 
strait  jacket  from  dangerous  persons.  Every 
honest  fellow  must  keep  up  the  hoax  the  best  he 
can ;  must  patronize  providence  and  piety,  and 
wherever  he  sees  anything  that  will  keep  men 
amused,  schools  or  churches  or  poetry,  or  pic 
ture-galleries  or  music,  or  what  not,  he  must  cry 
"  Hist-a-boy,"  and  urge  the  game  on.  What  a 
compliment  we  pay  to  the  good  SPIRIT  with  our 
superserviceable  zeal ! 

But  not  to  balance  reasons  for  and  against  the 
establishment  any  longer,  and  if  it  still  be  asked 
in  this  necessity  of  partial  organization,  which 
party  on  the  whole  has  the  highest  claims  on  our 
sympathy  ?  I  bring  it  home  to  the  private  heart, 
where  all  such  questions  must  have  their  final 
arbitrement.  How;  will  every  strong  and  gen 
erous  mind  choose  its  ground,  —  with  the  de 
fenders  of  the  old?  or  with  the  seekers  of  the 
new  ?  Which  is  that  state  which  promises  to 
edify  a  great,  brave,  and  beneficent  man;  to 
throw  him  on  his  resources,  and  tax  the  strength 
of  his  character  ?  On  which  part  will  each  of 


312  THE   CONSERVATIVE. 

us  find  himself  in  the  hour  of  health  and  of 
aspiration  ? 

I  understand  well  the  respect  of  mankind  for 
war,  because  that  breaks  up  the  Chinese  stagna 
tion  of  society,  and  demonstrates  the  personal 
merits  of  all  men.  A  state  of  war  or  anarchy, 
in  which  law  has  little  force,  is  so  far  valuable, 
that  it  puts  every  man  on  trial.  The  man  of 
principle  is  known  as  such,  and  even  in  the  fury 
of  faction  is  respected.  In  the  civil  wars  of 
France,  Montaigne  alone,  among  all  the  French 
gentry,  kept  his  castle  gates  unbarred,  and  made 
his  personal  integrity  as  good  at  least  as  a  regi 
ment.  The  man  of  courage  and  resources  is 
shown,  and  the  effeminate  and  base  person. 
Those  who  rise-  above  war,  and  those  who  fall 
below  it,  it  easily  discriminates,  as  well  as  those, 
who,  accepting  its  rude  conditions,  keep  their 
own  head  by  their  own  sword. 

But  in  peace  and  a  commercial  state  we  de 
pend,  not  as  we  ought,  on  our  knowledge  and 
all  men's  knowledge  that  we  are  honest  men, 
but  we  cowardly  lean  on  the  virtue  of  others. 
For  it  is  always  at  last  the  virtue  of  some  men 
in  the  society,  which  keeps  the  law  in  any  reve 
rence  and  power.  Is  there  not  something  shame 
ful  that  I  should  owe  my  peaceful  occupancy  of 
my  house  and  field,  not  to  the  knowledge  of  my 


THE   CONSERVATIVE.  313 

countrymen  that  I  am  useful,  but  to  their  respect 
for  sundry  other  reputable  persons,  I  know  riot 
whom,  whose  joint  virtue  still  keep  the  law  in 
good  odor  ? 

It  will  never  make  any  difference  to  a  hero 
what  "the  laws  are.  His  greatness  will  shine  and 
accomplish  itself  unto  the  end,  whether  they 
second  him  or  not.  If  he  have  earned  his  bread 
by  drudgery,  and  in  the  narrow  and  crooked 
wrays  which  were  all  an  evil  law  had  left  hinV 
he  will  make  it  at  least  honorable  by  his  expen 
diture.  Of  the  past  he  will  take  no  heed ;  for 
its  wrongs  he  will  not  hold  himself  responsible  : 
he  will  say,  all  "the  meanness  of  my  progenitors 
shall  not  bereave  me  of  the  power  to  make  this 
hour  and  company  fair  and  fortunate.  What 
soever  streams  of  power  and  commodity  flow  to 
me,  shall  of  me  acquire  healing  virtue,  and  be 
come  fountains  of  safety.  Cannot  I  too  descend 
a  Redeemer  into  nature?  Whosover  hereafter 
shall  name  my  name,  shall  not  record  a  malefac 
tor,  but  a  benefactor  in  the  earth.  If  there  be 
power  in  good  intention,  in  fidelity,  and  in  toil, 
the  north  wind  shall  be  purer,  the  stars  in  heaven 
shall  glow  with  a  kindlier  beam,  that  I  have 
lived.  I  am  primarily  engaged  to  myself  to  be 
a  public  servant  of  all  the  gods,  to  demonstrate 
to  all  men  that  there  is  intelligence  and  good 
27 


314  THE   CONSERVATIVE. 

will  at  the  heart  of  things,  and  ever  higher  and 
yet  higher  leadings.  These  are  my  engage 
ments  ;"how  can  your  law  further  or  hinder  me 
in  what  I  shall  do  to  men  ?  On  the  other  hand, 
these  dispositions  establish  their  relations  to  me. 
Wherever  there  is  worth,  I  shall  be  greeted. 
Wherever  there  are  men,  are  the  objects  of  my 
study  and  love.  Sooner  or  later  all  men  will  be 
my  friends,  and  will  testify  in  all  methods  the 
energy  of  their  regard.  I  cannot  thank  your  law 
for  my  protection.  I  protect  it.  It  is  not  in  its 
power  to  protect  me.  It  is  my  business  to  make 
myself  revered.  I  depend  on  my  honor,  my 
labor,  and  my  dispositions,  for  my  place  in  the 
affections  of  mankind,  and  not  on  any  conven 
tions  or  parchments  of  yours. 

But  if  I  allow  myself  in  derelictions,  and  be 
come  idle  and  dissolute,  I  quickly  come  to  love 
the  protection  of  a  strong  law,  because  I  feel  no 
title  in  myself  to  my  advantages.  To  the  intem 
perate  and  covetous  person  no  love  flows  ;  to 
him  mankind  would  pay  no  rent,  no  dividend,  if 
force  were  once  relaxed ;  nay,  if  they  could  give 
their  verdict,  they  would  say,  that  his  self- 
indulgence  and  his  oppression  deserved  punish 
ment  from  society,  and  not  that  rich  board  and 
lodging  he  now  enjoys.  The  law  acts  then  as  a 
screen  of  his  un worthiness,  and  makes  him  worse 
^e  longer  it  protects  him. 


THE   CONSERVATIVE.  315 

In  conclusion,  to  return  from  this  alternation 
of  partial  views,  to  the  -high  platform  of  univer 
sal  and  necessary  history,  it  is  a  happiness  for 
mankind  that  innovation  has  got  on  so  far,  and 
fias  so  free  a  field  before  it.  The  boldness  of 
the  hope  men  entertain  transcends  all  former 
experience.  It  calms  and  cheers  them  with  the 
picture  of  a  simple  and  equal  life  of  truth  and 
piety.  And  this  hope  flowered  on  what  tree? 
It  was  not  inrported  from  the  stock  of  some 
celestial  plant,  but  grew  here  on  the  wild  crab 
of  conservatism.  It  is  much  that  this  old  and 
vituperated  system  of  things  has  borne  so  fair  a 
child.  It  predicts  that  amidst  a  planet  peopled, 
with  conservatives,  one  Reformer  may  yet  be 
born. 


THE  TBANSCENDENTALIST. 


A  LECTURE    READ   AT     THE  MASONIC   TEMPLE,   BOSTON,  JANUARY,     9 

1842. 


THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM 


THE  first  thing  we  have  to  say  respecting 
what  are  called  new  views  here  in  New  England, 
at  the  present  time,  is,  that  they  are  not  new, 
but  ihe  very  oldest  of  thoughts  cast  into  the 
mould  of  these  new  times.  The  light  is  always 
identical  in  its  composition, 'but  it  falls  on  a  great 
variety  of  objects,  and  by  so  falling  is  first  re 
vealed  to  us,  not  in  its  own  form,  for  it  is  form 
less,  but  in  theirs  ;  in  like  manner,  thought  only 
appears  in  the  objects  it  classifies.  What  is 
popularly  called  Transcendentalism  among  us, 
is  Idealism  ;  Idealism  as  it  appears  in  1842.  As 
thinkers,  mankind  have  ever  divided  into  two 
sects,  Materialists  and  Idealists ;  the  first  class 
founding  on  experience,  the  second  on  conscious 
ness  ;  the  first  class  beginning  to  think  from  the 
data  of  the  senses,  the  second  class  perceive  that 
the  senses  are  not  final,  and  say,  the  senses  give 


320  THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM 

us  representations  of  things,  but  what  are  the 
things  themselves,  they  cannot  tell.  The  mate 
rialist  insists  on  faets,  on  history,  on  the  force 
of  circumstances,  and  the  animal  wants  of  man  ; 
the  idealist  on  the  power  of  Thought  and  of 
Will,  on  inspiration,  on  miracle,  on  individual 
culture.  These  two  modes  of  thinking  are  both 
natural,  but  the  idealist  contends  that  his  way  of 
thinking  is  in  higher  nature.  He  concedes  all 
that  the  other  affirms,  admits  the  impressions  of 
sense,  .admits  their  coherency,  their  use  and 
beauty,  and  then  asks  the  materialist  for  his 
grounds  of  assurance  that  things  are  as  his  senses* 
represent  them.  But  I,  he  says,  affirm  fact^not 
affected  by  the  illusions  of  sense,  facts  which  are 
of  the  same  nature  as  the  faculty  which  reports 
them,  and  not  liable  to  doubt;  facts  which  in 
their  first  appearance  to  us  assume  a  native  supe 
riority  to  material  facts,  degrading  these  into  a 
language  by  which  the  first  are  to  be  spoken  ; 
facts  which  it  only  needs  a  retirement  from  the 
senses  to  discern.  Every  materialist  will  be  an 
idealist ;  but  an  idealist  can  never  go  backward 
to  be  a  materialist. 

The  idealist,  in  speaking  of  events,  sees  them 
as  spirits.  He  does  not  deny  the  sensuous  fact : 
by  no  means ;  but  he  will  not  see  that  alone. 
He  does  not  deny  the  presence  of  this  table,  this 


THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM  321 

chair,  and  the  walls  of  this  room,  but  he  looks 
at  these  things  as  the  reverse  side  of  the  tapes 
try,  as  the  other  end,  each  being  a  sequel  or  com 
pletion  of  a  spiritual  fact  which  nearly  concerns 
him.  This  manner  of  looking  at  things,  trans 
fers  every  object  in  nature  from  an  independent 
and  anomalous  position  without  there,  into  the 
consciousnes*s.  Even  the  materialist  Condillac, 
perhaps  the  most  logical  expounder  of  material 
ism,  was  constrained  to  say,  "  Though  we  should 
soar  into  the  heavens,  though  we  should  sink 
into  the  abyss,  we  never  go  but  of  ourselves ;  it 
•  is  always  our  own  thought  that  we  perceive." 
Wh#t  more  could'  an  idealist  say  ? 

The  materialist,  secure  in  the  certainty  of  sen 
sation,  mocks  at  fine-spun  theories,  at  star-gazers 
and  dreamers,  and  believes  that  his  life  is  solid, 
that  he  at  least  takes  nothing  for  granted,  but 
knojvs  where  he  stands,  and  what  he  does.  Yet 
how  easy  it  is  to  show  him,  that  he  also  is  a 
phantom  walking  and  working  amid  phantoms, 
and  that  he  need  only  ask  a  question  or  two 
beyond  his  daily  questions,  to  find  his  solid 
universe  growing  dim  and  impalpable  before  his 
sense.  The  sturdy  capitalist,  no  matter  how 
deep  and  square  on  blocks  of  Quincy  granite  he 
lays  the  foundations  of  his  banking-house,  or 
Exchange,  must  set  it,  at  last,  not  on  a  cube 


322  THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM 

corresponding  to  the  angles  of  his  structure,  but 
on  a  mass  of  unknown  materials  and  solidity, 
red-hot  or  white-hot,  perhaps  at  the  core,  which 
rounds  off  to  an  almost  perfect  sphericity,  and 
lies  floating  in  soft  air,  and  goes  spinning  away, 
dragging  bank  and  banker  with  it  at  a  rate  of 
thousands  of  miles  the  hour,  he  knows  not 
whither, —  a  bit  of  bullet,  now  glimmering,  now 
darkling  through  a  small  cubic  space  on  the  edge 
of  an  unimaginable  pit  of  emptiness.  And  this 
wild  balloon,  in  which  his  whole  venture  is  em 
barked,  is  a  just  symbol  of  his  whole  state  and 
faculty.  One  thing,  at  least,  he  says  is  certain, 
and  does  not  give  me  the  headache,  that  figures 
do  not  lie ;  the  multiplication  table  has  been 
hitherto  found  unimpeachable  truth  ;  and,  more 
over,  if  I  put  a  gold  eagle  in  my  safe,  I  find  it 
again  to-morrow; — but  for  these  thoughts,  I 
know  not  whence  they  are.  They  change  and 
pass  away.  But  ask  him  why  he  believes  that 
an  uniform  experience  will  continue  uniform,  or 
on  what  grounds  he  founds  his  faith  in  his  fig 
ures,  and  he  will  perceive  that  his  mental  fabric 
is  built  up  on  just  as  strange  and  quaking  foun 
dations  as  his  proud  edifice  of  stone. 

In  the  order  of  thought,  the  materialist  takes 
his  departure  from  the  external  world,  and  es 
teems  a  man  as  one  product  of  that.  The  idealist 


THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM  323 

takes  his  departure  from  his  consciousness,  and 
reckons  the  world  an  appearance.  The  mate 
rialist  respects  sensible  masses,  Society,  Govern 
ment,  social  art,  and  luxury,  every  establishment, 
every  mass,  whether  majority  of  numbers,  or 
extent  of  space,  or  amount  of  objects,  every  so 
cial  action.  The  idealist  has  another  measure, 
which  is  metaphysical,  namely,  the  rank  which 
things  themselves  take  in  his  consciousness  ;  not 
at  all,  the  size  or  appearance.  Mind  is  the  only 
reality,  of  which  men  and  all  other  natures  are 
better  or  worse  reflectors.  Nature,  literature, 
history,  are  only  subjective  phenomena.  Al 
though  in  his  action  overpowered  by  the  laws 
of  action,  and  so,  warmly  cooperating  with  men, 
even  preferring  them  to  himself,  yet  when  he 
speaks  scientifically,  or  after  the  order  of  thought, 
he  is  constrained  to  degrade  persons  into  repre 
sentatives  of  truths.  He  does  not  respect  labor, 
or  the  products  of  labor,  namely,  property,  other 
wise  than  as  a  manifold  symbol,  illustrating  with 
wonderful  fidelity  of  details  the  laws  of  being ; 
he  does  not  respect  government,  except  as  far  as 
it  reiterates  the  law  of  his  mind  ;  nor  the  church ; 
nor  charities  ;  nor  arts,  for  themselves  ;  but  hears, 
as  at  a  vast  distance,  what  they  say,  as  if  his 
consciousness  would  speak  to  him  through  a 
pantomimic  scene.  His  thought, — that  is  the 


324  THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM 

Universe.  His  experience  inclines  him  to  be 
hold  the  procession  of  facts  you  call  the  world, 
as  flowing  perpetually  outward  from  an  invisi 
ble,  unsounded  centre  in  himself,  centre  alike  of 
him  and  of  them,  and  necessitating  him  to  re 
gard  all  things  as  having  a  subjective  or  relative 
existence,  relative  to  that  aforesaid  Unknown 
Centre  of  him. 

From  this  transfer  of  the  world  into  the  con 
sciousness,  this  beholding  of  all  things  in  the 
mind,  follow  easily  his  whole  ethics.  It  is  sim 
pler  to  be  self-dependent.  The  height,  the  de 
ity  of  man  is,  to  be  self-sustained,  to  need  no 
gift,  no  foreign  force.  Society  is  good  when  it 
does  not  violate  me  ;  but  best  when  it  is  likest 
to  solitude.  Everything  real  is  self-existent. 
Everything  divine  shares  the  self-existence  of 
Deity.  All  that  you  call  the  world  is  the  sha 
dow  of  that  substance  which  you  are,  the  per 
petual  creation  of  the  powers  of  thought,  of  those 
that  are  dependent  and  of  those  that  are  inde 
pendent  of  your  will.  Do  not  cumber  yourself 
with  fruitless  pains  to  mend  and  remedy  remote 
effects ;  let  the  soul  be  erect,  and  all  things  will 
go  well.  You  think  me  the  child  of  my  cir 
cumstances  :  I  make  my  circumstance.  Let 
any  thought  or  motive  of  mine  be  different 
fioin  that  they  are,  the  difference  will  transform 


THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM  325 

my  condition  and  economy.  I — this  thought 
which  is  called  I,  —  is  the  mould  into  which  the 
world  is  poured  like  melted  wax.  The  mould 
is  invisible,  but  the  world  betrays  the  shape  of 
the  mould.  You  call  it  the  power  of  circum 
stance,  but  it  is  the  power  of  me.  Am  I  in 
harmony  with  myself  ?  my  position  will  seem  to 
you  just  and  commanding.  Am  I  vicious  and 
insane  ?  my  fortunes  will  seem  to  you  obscure 
and  descending.  As  I  am,  so  shall  I  associate, 
and,  so  shall  I  act ;  Caesar's  history  will  paint 
out  Caesar.  Jesus  acted  so,  because  he  thought 
so.  I  do  not  wish  to  overlook  or  to  gainsay  any 
reality  ;  I  say,  I  make  my  circumstance  :  but  if 
you  ask  me,  Whence  am  I?  I  feel  like  other 
men  my  relation  to  that  Fact  which  cannot  be 
spoken,  or  defined,  nor  even  thought,  but  which 
exists,  and  will  exist. 

The  Transcendentalist  adopts  the  whole  con 
nection  of  spiritual  doctrine.  He  believes  in 
miracle,  in  the  perpetual  openness  of  the  human 
mind  to  new  influx  of  light  and  power ;  he  be 
lieves  in  inspiration,  and  in  ecstasy.  He  wishes 
that  the  spiritual  principle  should  be  suffered  to 
demonstrate  itself  to  the  end,  in  all  possible 
applications  to  the  state  of  man,  without  the 
admission  of  anything  unspiritual ;  that  is,  any 
thing  positive,  dogmatic,  personal.  Thus,  the 
28 


326  THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM 

spiritual  measure  of  inspiration  is  the  depth  of 
the  thought,  and  never,  who  said  it  ?  And  so  he 
resists  all  attempts  to  palm  other  rules  and  meas 
ures  on  the  spirit  than  its  own. 

In  action,  he  easily  incurs  the  charge  of  anti- 
nomianism  by  his  avowal  that  he,  who  has  the 
Lawgiver,  may  with  safety  not  only  neglect,  but 
even  contravene  every  written  commandment. 
In  the  play  of  Othello,  the  expiring  Desdemona 
absolves  her  husband  of  the  murder,  to  her 
attendant  Emilia.  Afterwards,  when  Emilia 
charges  him  with  the  crime,  Othello  exclaims, 

"  You  heard  her  say  herself  it  was  not  I/' 
Emilia  replies, 

44  The  more  angel  she,  and  thou  the  blacker  devil." 

• 

Of  this  fine  incident,  Jacobi,  the  Transcend 
ental  moralist,  makes  use,  with  other  parallel 
instances,  in  his  reply  to  Fichte.  Jacobi,  re 
fusing  all  measure  of  right  and  wrong  except 
the  determinations  of  the  private  spirit,  remarks 
that  there  is  no  crime  but  has  sometimes 
been  a  virtue.  "  I,"  he  says,  "  am  that  atheist, 
that  godless  person  who,  in  opposition  to  an 
imaginary  doctrine  of  calculation,  would  lie  as 
the  dying  Desdemona  lied ;  would  lie  and  de 
ceive,  as  Pylades  when  he  personated  Orestes ; 


THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM  327 

would  assassinate  like  Timoleon  ;  would  perjure 
myself  like  Epaminondas,  and  John  de  Witt ;  I 
would  resolve  on  suicide  like  Cato  ;  I  would 
commit  sacrilege  with  David  ;  yea,  and  pluck 
ears  of  com  on  the  Sabbath,  for  no  other  reason 
than  that  I  was  fainting  for  lack  of  food.  For, 
I  have  assurance  in  myself,  that,  in  pardoning 
these  faults  according  to  the  letter,  man  exerts 
the  sovereign  right  which  the  majesty  of  his 
being  confers  on  him ;  he  sets  the  seal  of  his 
divine  nature  to  the  grace  he  accords."  * 

In  like  manner,  if  there  is  anything  grand  and 
daring  in  human  thought  or  virtue,  any  reliance 
on  the  vast,  the  unknown  ;  any  presentiment ; 
any  extravagance  of  faith,  the  spiritualist  adopts 
it  as  most  in  nature.  The  oriental  mind  has 
always  tended  to  this  largeness.  Buddhism  is 
an  expression  of  it.  The  Buddhist  who  thanks 
no  man,  who  says,  "  do  not  flatter  your  benefac 
tors,"  but  who,  in  his  conviction  that  every  good 
deed  can  by  no  possibility  escape  its  reward, 
will  not  deceive  the  benefactor  by  pretending 
that  he  has  done  more  than  he  should,  is  a 
Transcendentalist. 

You  will  see  by  this  sketch  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  Transcendental  party ;  that  there 

*  Coleridge's  Translation. 


328  THE   TRAXSC'ENDENTALIST. 

is  no  pure  Transcendentalist ;  that  we  know  of 
none  but  prophets  and  heralds  of  such  a  phi 
losophy  ;  that  all  who  by  strong  bias  of  nature 
have  leaned  to  the  spiritual  side  in  doctrine,  have 
stopped  short  of  their  goal.  We  have  had  many 
harbingers  and  forerunners  ;  but  of  a  purely 
spiritual  life,  history  has  afforded  no  example. 
I  mean,  we  have  yet  no  man  who  has  leaned 
entirely  on  his  character,  and  eaten  angels'  food ; 
who,  trusting  to  his  sentiments,  found  life  made 
of  miracles  ;  who,  working  for  universal  aims, 
found  himself  fed,  he  knew  not  how;  clothed, 
sheltered,  and  weaponed,  he  knew  not  how,  and 
yet  it  was  done  by  his  own  hands.  Only  in  the 
instinct  of  the  lower  animals,  we  find  the  sugges 
tion  of  the  methods  of  it,  and  something  higher 

•  than  our  understanding.  The  squirrel  hoards 
nuts,  and  the  bee  gathers  honey,  without  know 
ing  what  they  do,  and  they  are  thus  provided  for 
without  selfishness  or  disgrace. 

Shall  we  say,  then,  that  Transcendentalism  is 
the  Saturnalia  or  excess  of  Faith ;  the  presenti 
ment  of  a  faith  proper  to  man  in  his  integrity, 
excessive  only  when  his  imperfect  obedience 
hinders  the  satisfaction  of  his  wish.  Nature  is 
transcendental,  exists  primarily,  necessarily,  ever 
works  and  advances,  yet  takes  no  thought  for 

^the  morrow.     Man  owns  the  dignity  of  the  life 


THE    TRANSCENDENTALISM  329 

i 

which  throbs  around  him  in  chemistry,  and  tree, 
and  animal  and  in  the  involuntary  functions  of 
his  own  body ;  yet  he  is  balked  when  he  tries 
to  fling  himself  into  this  enchanted  circle,  where 
all  is  done  without  degradation.  Yet  genius 
and  virtue  predict  in  man  the  same  absence  of 
private  ends,  and  of  condescension  to  circum 
stances,  united*  with  every  trait  and  talent  of 
beauty  and  power. 

This  way  of  thinking,  falling  on  Roman  times, 
made  Stoic  philosophers ;  falling  on  despotic 
times,  made  patriot  Catos  and  Brutuses ;  falling 
on  superstitious  times,  made  prophets  and  apos 
tles  ;  on  popish  times,  made  protestants  and 
ascetic  monks,  preachers  of  Faith  against  the 
preachers  of  Works ;  on  prelatical  times,  made 
Puritans  and  Quakers  ;  and  falling  on  Unitarian 
and  commercial  times,  makes  the  peculiar  shades 
of  Idealism  which  we  know. 

It  is  well  known  to  most  of  my  audience,  that 
the  Idealism  of  the  present  day  acquired  the 
name  of  Transcendental,  from  the  use  of  that 
term  by  Immanuel  Kant,  of  Konigsberg,  who 
replied  to  the  skeptical  philosophy  of  Locke, 
which  insisted  that  there  was  nothing  in  the 
intellect  which  -was  not  previously  in  the  expe 
rience  of  the  senses,  by  showing  that  there  was 
a  very  important  class  of  ideas,  or  imperative 
28* 


330  THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM 

* 

forms,  which  did  not  come  by  experience,  but 
through  which  experience  was  acquired;  that 
these  were  intuitions  of  the  mind  itself ;  and  he 
denominated  them  Transcendental  forms.  The 
extraordinary  profoundness  and  precision  of  that 
man's  thinking  have  given  vogue  to  his  nomen 
clature,  in  Europe  and  America,  to  that  extent, 
that  whatever  belongs  to  the  class  of  intuitive 
thought,  is  popularly  called  at  the  present  day 
Transcendental. 

Although,  as  we  have  said,  there  is  no  pure 
Transcendentalist,  yet  the  tendency  to  respect 
the  intuitions,  and  to  give  them,  at  least  in  our 
creed,  all  authority  over  our  experience,  has 
deeply  colored  the  conversation  and  poetry  of 
the  present  day ;  and  the  history  of  genius  and 
of  religion  in  these  times,  though  impure,  and 
as  yet  not  incarnated  in  any  powerful  individual, 
will  be  the  history  of  this  tendency. 

It  is  a  sign  of  our  times,  conspicuous  to  the 
coarsest  observer,  that  many  intelligent  and  re 
ligious  persons  withdraw  themselves  from  the 
common  labors  and  competitions  of  the  market 
and  the  caucus,  and  betake  themselves  to  a  cer 
tain  solitary  and  critical  way  of  living,  from 
which  no  solid  fruit  has  yet  appeared  to  justify 
their  separation.  They  hold  themselves  aloof: 
they  feel  the  disproportion  between  their  facul- 


THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM  331 

ties  and  the  work  offered  them,  and  they  prefer 
to  ramble  in  the  country  and  perish  of  ennui,  to 
the  degradation  of  such  charities  and  such  ambi 
tions  as  the  city  can  propose  to  them.  They 
are  striking  work,  and  crying  out  for  somewhat 
worthy  to  do !  What  they  do,  is  done  only 
because  they  are  overpowered  by  the  humanities 
that  speak  on  all  sides  ;  and  they  consent  to 
such  labor  as  is  open  to  them,  though  to  their 
lofty  dream  the  writing  of  Iliads  or  Hamlets,  or 
the  building  of  cities  or  empires  seems  drudgery. 
Now  every  one  must  do  after  his  kind,  be  he 
asp  or  angel,  and  these  must.  The  question, 
which  a  wise  man  and  a  student  of  modern  his 
tory  will  ask,  is,  what  that  kind  is  ?  And  truly, 
as  in  ecclesiastical  history  we  take  so  much  pains 
to  know  what  the  Gnostics,  what  the  Essenes, 
what  the  Manichees,  and  what  the  Reformers 
believed,  it  would  not  misbecome  us  to  inquire 
nearer  home,  what  these  companions  and  con 
temporaries  of  ours  think  and  do,  at  least  so  far 
as  these  thoughts  and  actions  appear  to  be  not 
accidental  and  personal,  but  common  to  many, 
and  the  inevitable  flower  of  the  Tree  of  Time. 
Our  American  literature  and  spiritual  history  are, 
we  confess,  in  the  optative  mood;  but  whoso 
knows  these  seething  brains,  these  admirable 
radicals,  these  unsocial  worshippers,  these  talkers 


832  THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM 

who  talk  the  sun  and  moon  away,  will  believe 
that  this  heresy  cannot  pass  away  without  leav 
ing  its  mark. 

They  are  lonely;  the  spirit  of  their  writing 
and  conversation  is  lonely  ;  they  repel  influences  ; 
they  shun  general  society ;  they  incline  to  shut 
themselves  in  their  chamber  in  the  house,  to  live 
in  the  country  rather  than  in  the  town,  and  to 
find  their  tasks  and  amusements  in  solitude. 
Society,  to  be  sure,  does  not  like  this  very  well ; 
it  saith,  Whoso  goes  to  walk  alone,  accuses  the 
whole  world;  he  declareth  all  to  be  unfit  to  be 
his  companions  ;  it  is  very  uncivil,  nay,  insulting ; 
Society  will  retaliate.  Meantime,  this  retirement 
does  not  proceed  from  any  whim  on  the  part  of 
these  separators  ;  but  if  any  one  will  take  pains 
to  talk  with  them,  he  will  find  that  this  part  is 
chosen  both  from  temperament  and  from  princi 
ple  ;  with  some  unwillingness,  too,  and  as  a 
choice  of  the  less  of  two  evils  ;  for  these  persons 
are  not  by  nature  melancholy,  sour,  and  unso 
cial, —  they  are  not  stockish  or  brute,  —  but 
joyous ;  susceptible,  affectionate ;  they  have 
even  more  than  others  a  great  wish  to  be  loved. 
Like  the  young  Mozart,  they  are  rather  ready  to 
cry  ten  times  a  day,  "  But  are  you  sure  you 
love  me  ?  "  Nay,  if  they  tell  you  their  whole 
thought,  they  will  own  that  love  seems  to  them 


THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM  333 

the  last  and  highest  gift  of  nature ;  that  there 
are  persons  whom  in  their  hearts  they  daily 
thank  for  existing,  —  persons  whose  faces  are 
perhaps  unknown  to  them,  but  whose  fame  and 
spirit  have  penetrated  their  solitude,  —  and  for 
whose  sake  they  wish  to  exist.  To  behold  the 
beauty  of  another  character,  which  inspires  a 
new  interest  in  our  own  ;  to  behold  the  beauty 
lodged  in  a  human  being,  with  such  vivacity  of 
apprehension,  that  I  am  instantly  forced  home  to 
inquire  if  I  am  not  deformity  itself:  to  behold  in 
another  the  expression  of  a  love  so  high  that  it 
assures  itself,  —  assures  itself  also  to  me  against 
every  possible  casualty  except  my  unworthi- 
ness ;  —  these  are  degrees  on  the  scale  of  human 
happiness,  to  which  they  have  ascended  ;  and  it 
is  a  fidelity  to  this  sentiment  which  has  made 
common  association  distasteful  to  them.  They 
wish  a  just  and  even  fellowship,  or  none.  They 
cannot  gossip  with  you,  and  they  do  not  wish, 
as  they  are  sincere  and  religious,  to  gratify  any 
mere  curiosity  which  you  may  entertain.  Like 
fairies,  they  do  not  wish  to  be  spoken  of.  Love 
me,  they  say,  but  do  not  ask  who  is  my  cousin 
and  my  uncle.  If  you  do  not  need  to  hear  my 
thought,  because  you  can  read  it  in  my  face  and 
behavior,  then  I  will  tell  it  you  from  sunrise  to 
sunset.  If  you  cannot  divine  it,  you  would 


334  THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM 

not  understand  what  I  say.     I  will  not  molest 
myself  for  you.     I  do  not  wish  to  be  profaned. 

And  yet,  it  seems  as  if  this  loneliness,  and 
not  this  love,  would  prevail  in  their  circum 
stances,  because  of  the  extravagant  demand  they 
make  on  human  nature.  That,  indeed,  con 
stitutes  a  new  feature  in  their  portrait^  that  they 
are  the  most  exacting  and  extortionate  critics. 
Their  quarrel  with  every  man  they  meet,  is  not 
with  his  kind,  but  with  his  degree.  There  is 
not  enough  of  him,  —  that  is  the  only  fault. 
They  prolong  their  privilege  of  childhood  in  this 
wise,  of  doing  nothing,  —  but  making  immense 
demands  on  all  the  gladiators  in  the  lists  of  action 
and  fame.  They  make  us  feel  the  strange  dis 
appointment  which  overcasts  every  human  youth. 
So  many  promising  youths,  and  never  a  finished 
man !  The  profound  nature  will  have  a  savage 
rudeness ;  the  delicate  one  will  be  shallow,  or 
the  victim  of  sensibility ;  the  richly  accom 
plished  will  have  some  capital  absurdity ;  and  so 
every  piece  has  a  crack.  'Tis  strange,  but  this 
masterpiece  is  the  result  of  such  an  extreme  deli 
cacy  >  that  the  most  unobserved  flaw  in  the  boy 
will  neutralize  the  most  aspiring  genius,  and 
spoil  the  work.  Talk  with  a  seaman  of  the 
hazards  to  life  in  his  profession,  and  he  will  ask 
you,  "  Where  are  the  old  sailors  ?  do  you  not  see 


THE  TRANSCENDENTALISM  835 

that  all  are  young  men  ?  "  And  we,  on  this  sea 
of  human  thought,  in  like  manner  inquire,  Where 
are  the  old  idealists  ?  where  are  they  who  repre 
sented  to  the  last  generation  that  extravagant 
hope,  which  a  few  happy  aspirants  suggest  to 
ours  ?  In  looking  at  the  class  of  counsel,  and 
power,  and  wealth,  and  at  the  matronage  of  the 
land,  amidst  all  the  prudence  and  all  the  trivi 
ality,  one  asks,  Where  are  they  who  represented 
genius,  virtue,  the  invisible  and  heavenly  world, 
to  these  ?  Are  they  dead,  —  taken  in  early  ripe 
ness  to  the  gods,  —  as  ancient  wisdom  foretold 
their  fate  ?  Or  did  the  high  idea  die  out  of  them, 
and  leave  their  unperfumed  body  as  its  tomb  and 
tablet,  announcing  to  all  that  the  celestial  inhabi 
tant,  who  once  gave  them  beauty,  had  departed  ? 
Will  it  be- better  with  the  new  generation?  We 
easily  predict  a  fair  future  to  each  new  candidate 
who  enters  the  lists,  but  we  are  frivolous  and 
volatile,  and  by  low  aims  and  ill  example  do 
what  we  can  to  defeat  this  hope.  Then  these 
youths  bring  us  a  rough  but  effectual  aid.  By 
their  unconcealed  dissatisfaction,  they  expose 
our  poverty,  and  the  insignificance  of  man  to 
man.  A  man  is  a  poor  limitary  benefactor.  He 
ought  to  be  a  shower  of  benefits —  a  great  influ 
ence,  which  should  never  let  his  brother  go,  but 
should  refresh  old  merits  continually  with  new 


836  THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM 

ones ;  so  that,  though  absent,  he  should  never 
be  out  of  my  mind,  his  name  never  far  from  my 
lips  ;  but  if  the  earth  should  open  at  my  side,  or 
my  last  hour  were  come,  his  name  should  be  the 
prayer  I  should  utter  to  the  Universe.  But  in 
our  experience,  man  is  cheap,  and  friendship 
wants  its  deep  sense.  We  affect  to  dwell  with 
our  friends  in  their*  absence,  but  we  do  not ; 
when  deed,  word,  or  letter  comes  *not,  they  let 
us  go.  These  exacting  children  advertise  us  of 
our  wants.  There  is  no  compliment,  no  smooth 
speech  with  them  ;  they  pay  you  only  this  one 
compliment,  of  insatiable  expectation ;  they  as 
pire,  they  severely  exact,  and  if  they  only  stand 
fast  in  this  watch-tower,  and  persist  in  demand 
ing  unto  the  end,  and  without  end,  then  are  they 
terrible  friends,  whereof  poet  and  priest  cannot 
choose  but  stand  in  awe ;  and  what  if  they  eat 
clouds,  and  drink  wind,  they  have  not  been 
without  service  to  the  race  of  man. 

With  this  passion  for  what  is  great  and  extra 
ordinary,  it  cannot  be  wondered  at,  that  they  are 
repelled  by  vulgarity  and  frivolity  in  people. 
They  say  to  themselves,  It  is  better  to  be  alone 
than  in  bad  company.  And  it  is  really  a  wish 
to  be  met,  —  the  wish  to  find  society  for  their 
hope  and  religion,  —  which  prompts  them  to 
shun  what  is  called  society.  They  feel  that  they 


THE   TBANSCENDENTALIST.  837 

are  never  so  fit  for  friendship,  as  when  they  have 
quitted  mankind,  and  taken  themselves  to  friend. 
A  picture,  a  book,  a  favorite  spot  in  the  hills  or 
the  woods,  which  they  can  people  with  the  fair 
and  worthy  creation  of  the  fancy,  can  give  them 
often  forms  so  vivid,  that  these  for  the  time 
shall  seem  real,  and  society  the  illusion. 

But  their  solitary  and  fastidious  manners  not 
only  withdraw  them  from  the  conversation,  but 
from  the  labors  of  the  world ;  they  are  not  good 
citizens,  not  good  members  of  society ;  unwil 
lingly  they  bear  their  part  of  the  public  and 
private  burdens ;  they  do  not  willingly  share 
in  the  public  charities,  in  the  public  religious 
rites,  in  the  enterprises  of  education,  of  missions 
foreign  and  domestic,  in  the  abolition  of  the 
slave-trade,  or  in  the  temperance  society.  They 
do  not  even  like  to  vote.  The  philanthropists 
inquire  whether  Transcendentalism  does  not 
mean  sloth :  they  had  as  lief  hear  that  their 
friend  is  dead,  as  that  he  is  a  Transcendental- 
ist ;  for  then  is  he  paralyzed,  and  can  never 
do  anything  for  humanity.  What  right,  cries 
the  good  world,  has  the  man  of  genius  to 
retreat  from  work,  and  indulge  himself  ?  The 
popular  literary  creed  seems  to  be,  <  I  am  a  sub 
lime  genius  ;  I  ought  not  therefore  to  labor/ 
But  genius  is  the  power  to  labor  better  and 
29 


838  THE   TEANSCENDENTALIST. 

more  availably.  Deserve  thy  genius :  exalt 
it.  The  good,  the  illuminated,  set  apart  from 
the  rest,  censuring  their  dulness  and  vices,  as 
if  they  thought  that,  by  sitting  very  grand  in 
their  chairs,  the  very  brokers,  attorneys,  and 
congressmen  would  see  the  error  of  their  ways, 
and  flock  to  them.  But  the  good  and  wise  must 
learn  to  act,  and  carry  salvation  to  the  com 
batants  and  demagogues  in  the  dusty  arena 
below. 

On  the  part  of  these  children,  it  is  replied,  that 
life  and  their  faculty  seem  to  them  gifts  too  rich 
to  be  squandered  on  such  trifles  as  you  propose 
to  them.  What  you  call  your  fundamental  in 
stitutions,  your  great  and  holy  causes,  seem  to 
them  great  abuses,  and,  when  nearly  seen,  paltry 
matters.  Each  '  Cause,'  as  it  is  called,  —  say 
Abolition,  Temperance,  say  Calvinism,  or  Unita- 
rianism,  —  becomes  speedily  a  little  shop,  where 
the  article,  let  it  have  been  at  first  never  so  sub 
tle  and  ethereal,  is  now  made  up  into  portable 
and  convenient  cakes,  and  .retailed  in  small 
quantities  to  suit  purchasers.  You  make  very 
free  use  of  these  words  '  great '  and  '  holy,'  but 
few  things  appear  to  them  such.  Few  persons 
have  any  magnificence  of  nature  to  inspire  en 
thusiasm,  and  the  philanthropies  and  charities 
have  a  certain  air  of  quackery.  As  to  the  general 


THE   TKANSCENDENTALIST.  839 

course  of  living,  and  the  daily  employments  of 
men,  they  cannot  see  much  virtue  in  these,  since 
they  are  parts  of  this  vicious  circle ;  and,  as  no 
great  ends  are  answered  by  the  men,  there  is 
nothing  noble  in  the  arts  by  which  they  are 
maintained.  Nay,  they  have  made  the  experi 
ment,  and  found  that,  from  the  liberal  profes 
sions  to  the  coarsest  manual  labor,  and  from 
the  courtesies  of  the  academy  and  the  college  to 
the  conventions  of  the  cotillon-room  and  the 
morning  call,  there  is  a  spirit  of  cowardly  com 
promise  and  seeming,  which  intimates  a  fright 
ful  skepticism,  a  life  without  love,  and  an  activ 
ity  without  an  aim. 

Unless  the  action  is  necessary,  unless  it  is 
adequate,  I  do  not  wish  to  perform  it.  I  do  not 
wish  to  do  one  thing  but  once.  I  do  not  love 
^routine.  Once  possessed  of  the  principle,  it  is 
equally  easy  to  make  four  orTorty  thousand  ap 
plications  of  it.  A  great  man  will  be  content 
to  have  indicated  in  any  the  slightest  manner 
his  perception  of  the  reigning  Idea  of  his  time, 
and  will  leave  to  those  who  like  it  the  multipli 
cation  of  examples.  When  he  has  hit  the  white, 
the  rest  may  shatter  the  target.  Every  thing  ad 
monishes  us  how  needlessly  long  life  is.  Every 
moment  of  a  hero  so  raises  and  cheers  us,  that 
a  twelvemonth  is  an  age.  All  that  the  brave 


340  THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM 

Xanthus  brings  home  from  his  wars,  is  the  recol 
lection  that,  at  the  storming  of  Samos,  "in  the 
heat  of  the  battle,  Pericles  smiled  on  me,  and 
passed  on  to  another  detachment."  It  is  the  qual 
ity  of  the  moment,  not  the  number  of  days,  of 
events,  or  of  actors,  that  imports. 

New,  .we  confess,  and  by  no  means  happy,  is 
our  condition  :  if  you  want  the  aid  of  our  labor, 
we  ourselves  stand  in  greater  want  of  the  labor. 
We  are  miserable  with  inaction.  We  perish  of 
rest  and  rust :  but  we  do  not  like  your  work. 

i  Then,'  says  the  world,  '  show  me  your  own.' 

4  We  have  none.' 

4  What  will  you  do,  then? '  cries  the  wgrld: 

'  We  will  wait.' 

4  How  long  ? '. 

'  Until  the  Universe  rises  up  and  calls  us  to 
work.' 

4  But  whilst  you  wait,  you  grow  old  and  use 
less.' 

'Be  it  so :  I  can  sit  in  a  corner  and  perish,  (as 
you  call  it,)  but  I  will  not  move  until  I  have  the 
highest  command.  If  no  call  should  come  for 
years,  for  centuries,  then  I  know  that  the  want 
of  -the  Universe  is  the  attestation  of  faith  by  my 
abstinence.  Your  virtuous  projects,  so  called, 
do  not  cheer  me.  I  know  that  which  shall  come 
will  cheer  me.  If  I  cannot  work,  at  least  I  need 


THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM  £41 

not  lie.  All  that  is  clearly  due  to-day  is  not  to 
lie.  In  other  places,  other  men  have  encoun 
tered  sharp  trials,  and  have  behaved  themselves 
well.  The  martyrs  were  sawn  asunder,  or  hung 
alive  on  meat-hooks.  Cannot  we  screw  our 
courage  to  patience  and  truth,  and  without  com 
plaint,  or  even  with  good-humor,  await  pur  turn 
of  action  in  the  Infinite,  Counsels  ?  ' 

But,  to  come  a  little  closer  to  the  secret  of 
these  persons,  we  must  say,  that  to  them  it 
seerns  a  very  easy  matter  to  answer  the  objec 
tions  of  the  man  of  the  world,  but  not  so  easy  to 
dispose  of  the  doubts  and  objections  that  occur 
to  themselves.  They  are  exercised  in  their  own 
spirit  with  queries,  which  acquaint  them  with  all 
adversity,  and  with  the  trials  of  the  bravest 
heroes.  When  I  asked  them  concerning  their 
private  experience,  they  answered  somewhat  in 
this  wise  :  It  is  riot  to  be  denied  that  there  must 
be  some  wide  difference  between  my  faith  and 
other  faith ;  and  mine  is  a  certain  brief  experi 
ence,  which  surprised  me  in  the  highway  or  in 
the  market,  in  some  place,  at  some  time, — 
whether  in  the  body  or  out  of  the  body,  God 
knoweth,  —  and  made  me  aware  that  I  had 
played  the  fool  with  fools  all  this  time,  but  that 
law  existed  for  me  and  for  all ;  that  to  me  be 
longed  trust,  a  child's  trust  and  obedience,  and  the 
29* 


342  THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM 

worship  of  ideas,  and  I  should  never  be  fool  more. 
Well,  in  the  space  of  an  hour,  probably,  I  was 
let  down  from  this  height;  I  was  at  my  old 
tricks,  the  selfish  member  of  a  selfish  society. 
My  life  is  superficial,  takes  no  root"  in  the  deep 
world ;  I  ask,  When  shall  I  die,  and  be  relieved 
of  the  responsibility  of  seeing  an  Universe  which 
I  do  not  use  ?  I  wish  to  exchange  this  fiash-of- 
lightning  faith  for  continuous  daylight,  this  fever- 
glow  for  a  benign  climate. 

These  two  states  of  thought  diverge  every 
moment,  and  stand  in  wild  contrast.  To  him 
who  looks  at  his  life  from  these  moments  of  illu 
mination,  it  will  seem  that  he  skulks  and  plays 
a  mean,  shiftless,  and  subaltern  part  in  the  world. 
That  is  to  be  done  which  ,he  has  not  skill  to  do, 
or  to  be  said  -which  others  can  say  better,  and 
he  lies  by,  or  occupies  his  hands  with  some  play 
thing,  until  his  hour  comes  again.  Much  of 
our  reading,  much  of  our  labor,  seems  mere 
waiting :  it  was  not  that  we  were  born  for.  Any 
other  $puld  do  it  as  well,  or  better.  So  little 
skill  enters  into  these  works,  so  little  do  they 
mix  with  the  divine  life,  that  it  really  signifies 
little  what  we  do,  whether  we  turn  a  grind 
stone,  or  ride,  or  run,  or  make  fortunes,  or 
govern  the  state.  The  worst  feature  of  this 
double  consciousness  is,  that  the  two  lives,  of 


THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM  343 

the  understanding  and  of  the  soul,  which  we 
lead,  really  show  very  little  relation  to  each 
other,  -never  meet  and  measure  each  other : 
one  prevails  now,  all-  buzz  and  din ;  and  the 
other  prevails  then,  all  infinitude  and  para 
dise  ;  and,  with  the  progress  of  life,  the  two 
discover  no  greater  disposition  to  reconcile  them 
selves.  Yet,  what  is  my  faith?  What  am  I? 
What  but  a  thought  of  serenity  and  indepen 
dence,  an  abode  in  the  deep  blue  sky  ?  Presently 
the  clouds  shut  down  again ;  yet  we  retain  the 
belief  that  this  petty  web  we  weave  will  at  last 
be  overshot  and  reticulated  with  veins  of  the 
blue,  and  that  the  moments  will  characterize  the 
days.  Patience,  then,  is  for  us,  is  it  not  ?  Pa 
tience,  and  still  patience.  When  we  pass,  as 
presently  we  shall,  into  some  new  infinitude,  out 
of  this  Iceland  of  negations,  it  will  please  us  to 
reflect  that,  though  we  had  few  virtues  or  con 
solations,  we  bore  with  our  indigence,  nor  once 
strove  to  repair  it  with  hypocrisy  or  false  heat  of 
any  kind.  .  « 

But  this  class  are  not  sufficiently  characterized, 
if  we  omit  to  add  that  they  are  lovers  and  wor 
shippers  of  Beauty.  In  the  eternal  trinity  of 
Truth,  Goodness,  and  Beauty,  each  in  its  per 
fection  including  the  three,  they  prefer  to  make 
Beauty  the  sign  and  head.  Something  of  the 


344  THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM 

same  taste  is  observable  in  all  the  moral  move 
ments  of  the  time,  in  the  religious  and  benevo 
lent  enterprises.  They  have  a  liberal,  even  an 
sesthetic  spirit.  A  reference  to  Beauty  in  action 
sounds,  to  be  sure,  a  little  hollow  and  ridiculous 
in  the  ears  of  the  old  church.  In  politics,  it  has 
often  sufficed,  when  they  treated  of  justice,  if 
they  kept  the  bounds  of  selfish  calculation.  If 
they  granted  restitution,  it  was  prudence  which 
granted  it.  But  the  justice  which  is  now  claimed 
for  the  black,  and  the  pauper,  and  the  drunkard 
is  for  Beauty,  —  is  for  a  necessity  to  the  sovul  of 
the  agent,  not  of  the  beneficiary.  I  say,  this  is 
the  tendency,  not  yet  the  realization.  Our  vir 
tue  totters  and  trips,  does  not  yet  walk  firmly. 
Its  representatives  are  austere  ;  they  preach  and 
denounce  ;  their  rectitude  is  not  yet  a  grace. 
They  are  still  liable  to  that  slight  taint  of  bur 
lesque  which,  in  our  strange  world,  attaches  to 
the  zealot.  A  saint  should  be  as  dear  as  the 
apple  of  the  eye.  Yet  we  are  tempted  to  smile, 
and  we  flee  from  the  working  to  the  speculative 
reformer,  to  escape  that  same  slight  ridicule. 
Alas  for  these  days  of  derision  and  criticism  ! 
We  call  the  Beautiful  the  highest,  because  it 
appears  to  us  the  golden  mean,  escaping  the 
dowdiness  of  the  good,  and  the  heartlessness  of 
the  true.  —  They  are  lovers  of  nature  also,  and 


THE   TRANSCENDENTALISM  345 

find  an  indemnity  in  the  inviolable  order  of  the 
world  for  the  violated  order  and  grace  of  man. 

There  is,  no  doubt,  a  great  deal  of  well-founded 
objection  to  be  spoken  or  felt  against  the  sayings 
and  doings  of  this  class,  some  of  whose  traits  we 
have  selected ;  no  doubt,  they  will  lay  themselves 
open  to  criticism  and  to  lampoons,  and  as  ridicu 
lous  stories  will  be  to  be  told  of  them  as  of  any. 
There  will  be  cant  and  pretension  ;  there  will 
be  subtilty  and  moonshine.  These  persons  are 
of  unequal  strength,  and  do  not  all  prosper. 
They  complain  that  everything  around  them 
must  be  denied ;  and  if  feeble,  it  takes  all  their 
strength  to  deny,  before  they  can  begin  to  lead 
their  own  life.  Grave  seniors  insist  on  their 
respect  to  this  institution,  and  that  usage  ;  to  an 
obsolete  history ;  to  some  vocation,  or  college, 
or  etiquette,  or  beneficiary,  or  charity,  or  morning 
or  evening  call,  which  they  resist,  as  what  does 
not  concern  them.  But  it  costs  such  sleepless 
nights,  alienations  and  misgivings, — they  have 
so  many  moods  about  it ;  —  these  old  guar- 
dia^ns  never  change  their  minds;  they  have  but 
one  rnood  on  the  subject,  namely,  that  Antony 
is  very  perverse,  —  that  it  is  quite  as  much  as 
Antony  can  do,  to  assert  his  rights,  abstain  from 
what  he  thinks  foolish,  and  keep  his  temper. 
He  cannot  help  the  reaction  of  this  injustice  in 


846  THE  TKANSCENDENTALIST. 

his  own  mind.  He  is  braced-up  and  stilted ;  all 
freedom  and  flowing  genius,  all  sallies  of  wit  and 
frolic  nature  are  quite  out  of  the  question ;  it  is 
well  if  he  can  keep  from  lying,  injustice,  and 
suicide.  This  is  no  time  for  gaiety  and  grace. 
His  strength  and  spirits  are  wasted  in  rejection. 
But  the  strong  spirits  overpower  those  around 
them  without  effort.  Their  thought  and  emo 
tion  comes  in  like  a  flood,  quite  withdraws  them 
from  all  notice  of  these  carping  critics ;  they 
surrender  themselves  with  glad  heart  to  the 
heavenly  guide,  and  only  by  implication  reject 
the  clamorous  nonsense  of  the  hour.  Grave 
seniors  talk  to  the  deaf,  —  church  and  old  book 
mumble  and  ritualize  to  an  unheeding,  preoccu 
pied  and  advancing  mind,  and  thus  they  by 
happiness  of  greater  momentum  lose  no  time, 
but  take  the  right  road  at  first. 

But  all  these  of  whom  I  speak  are  not  profi 
cients  ;  they  are  novices  ;  they  only  show  the  road 
in  which  man  should  travel,  when  the  soul  has 
greater  health  and  prowess.  Yet  let  them  feel 
the  dignity  of  then*  charge,  and  deserve  a  larger 
power.  Their  heart  is  the  ark  iji  which  the  fire 
is  concealed,  which  shall  burn  in  a  broader  and 
universal  flame.  Let  them  obey  the  Genius 
then  most  when  his  impulse  is  wildest;  then 
most  when  he  seems  to  lead  to  uninhabitable 


THE  TRANSCENDENTALISM      '  847 

departs  of  thought  and  life ;  for  the  path  which 
the  hero  travels  alone  is  the  highway  of  health 
and  benefit  to  mankind.  What  is  the  privilege 
and  nobility  of  our  nature,  but  its  persistency, 
through  its  power  to  attach  itself  to  what  is  per 
manent  ? 

Society  also  has  its  duties  in  reference  to  this 
class,  and  must  behold  them  with  what  charity 
it  can.  Possibly  some  benefit  may  yet  accrue 
from  them  to  the  state.  In  our  Mechanics'  Fair, 
there  must  be  not  only  bridges,  ploughs,  carpen 
ters'  planes,  and  baking  troughs,  but  also  some 
few  finer  instruments,  —  rain  gauges,  thermom 
eters,  and  telescopes ;  and  in  society,  besides 
farmers,  sailors,  and  weavers,  there  must  be  a 
few  persons  of  purer  fire  kept  specially  as  gauges 
and  meters  of  character ;  persons  of  a  fine,  de 
tecting  instinct,  who  betray  the  smallest  accu 
mulations  of  wit  and  feeling  in  the  bystander. 
Perhaps  too  there  might  be  room  for  the  exciters 
and  monitors ;  collectors  of  the  heavenly  spark 
with  power  to  convey  the  electricity  to  others. 
Or,  as  the  storm-tossed  vessel  at  sea  speaks  the 
frigate  or  '  line  packet '  to  learn  its  longitude,  so 
it  may  not  be  without  its  advantage  that  we 
should  now  and  then  encounter  rare  and  gifted 
men,  to  compare  the  points  of  our  spiritual 
compass,  and  verify  our  bearings  from  superior 
chronometers. 


348  THE  TRANSCENDENTALISM 

Amidst  the  downward  tendency  and  proneness 
of  things,  when  every  voice  is  raised  for  a  new 
road  or  another  statute,  or  a  subscription  of  stock, 
for  an  improvement  in  dress,  or  in  dentistry,  for 
a  new  house  or  a  larger  business,  for  a  political 
party,  or  the  division  of  an  estate,  —  will  you 
not  tolerate  one  or  two  solitary  voices  in  the 
land,  speaking  for  thoughts  and  principles  not 
marketable  or  perishable  ?  Soon  these  improve 
ments  and  mechanical  inventions  will  be  super 
seded  ;  these  modes  of  living  lost  out  of  mem 
ory  ;  these  cities  rotted,  ruined  by  war,  by  new 
inventions,  by  new  seats  of  trade,  or  the  geologic 
changes :  —  all  gone,  like  the  shells  which  sprin 
kle  the  seabeach  with  a  white  colony  to-day, 
forever  renewed  to  be  forever  destroyed.  But 
the  thoughts  which  these  few  hermits  strove  to 
proclaim  by  silence,  as  well  as  by  speech,  not 
only  by  what  they  did,  but  by  what  they  forbore 
to  do,  shall  abide  in  beauty  and  strength,  to  re 
organize  themselves  in  nature,  to  invest  them 
selves  anew  in  other,  perhaps  higher  endowed 
and  happier  mixed  clay  than  ours,  in  fuller  union 
with  the  surrounding  system. 


THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN. 

A   LECTURE    BEAD   BEFORE    THE    MERCANTILE    LIBRARY   ASSO 
CIATION,  BOSTON,   FEBRUARY   7,    1844. 


THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN. 


GENTLEMEN  : 

IT  is  remarkable,  that  our  people  have  their 
intellectual  culture  from  one  country,  and  their 
duties  from  another.  This  false  state  of  things 
is  newly  in  a  way  to  be  corrected.  America  is 
beginning  to  assert  itself  to  the  senses  and  to  the 
imagination  of  her  children,  and  Europe  is  re 
ceding  in  the  same  degree.  This  their  reaction 
on  education,  gives  a  new  importance  to  the  in 
ternal  improvements  and  to  the  politics  of  the 
country.  Who  has  not  been  stimulated  to  re 
flection  by  the  facilities  now  in  progress  of  con 
struction  for  travel  and  the  transportation  of 
goods  in  the  United  States  ? 

This  rage  for  road  building  is  beneficent  for 
America,  where  vast  distance  is  so  main  a  con 
sideration  in  our  domestic  politics  and  trade, 
inasmuch  as  the  great  political  promise  of  the 


352  THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN. 

invention  is  to  hold  the  Union  staunch,  whose 
days  seemed  already  numbered  by  the  mere 
inconvenience  of  transporting  representatives, 
judges,  and  officers  across  such  tedious  dis 
tances  of  land  and  water.  Not  only  is  distance 
annihilated,  but  when,  as  now,  the  locomotive 
and  the  steamboat,  like  enormous  shuttles,  shoot 
every  day  across  the  thousand  various  threads 
of  national  descent  and  employment,  and  bind 
them  fast  in  one  web,  an  hourly  assimilation 
goes  forward,  and  there  is  no  danger  that  locab 
peculiarities  and  hostilities  should  be  preserved. 

1.  But  I  hasten  to  speak  of  the  utility  of  these 
improvements  in  creating  an  American  senti 
ment.  An  unlocked  for  consequence  of  the  rail 
road,  is  the  increased  acquaintance  it  has  given 
the  American  people  with  the  boundless  resources 
of  their  own  soil.  If  this  invention  has  reduced 
England  to  a  third  of  its'  size,  by  bringing  people 
so  much  nearer,  in  this  country  it  has  given  a 
new  celerity  to  time,  or  anticipated  by  fifty 
years  the  planting  of  tracts  of  land,  the  choice 
of  water  privileges,  the  working  of  mines,  and 
other  natural  advantages.  Railroad  iron  is  a 
magician's  rod,  in  its  power  to  evoke  the  sleep 
ing  energies  of  land  and  water. 

The  railroad  is  but  one  arrow  in  our  quiver, 
though  it  has  great  value  as  a  sort  of  yard-stick, 


THE   YOUNG  AMERICAN.  353 

and  surveyor's  line.  The  bountiful  continent  is 
ours,  state  on  state,  and  territory  on  territory,  to 
the  waves  of  the  Pacific  sea ; 

"  Our  garden  is  the  immeasurable  earth, 
The  heaven's  blue  pillars  are  Medea's  house." 

The  task  of  surveying,  planting,  and  building 
upon  this  immense  tract,  requires  an  education 
and  a  sentiment  commensurate  thereto.  A  con 
sciousness  of  this  fact,  is  beginning  to  take  the 
place  of  the  purely  trading  spirit  and  education 
which  sprang  up  whilst  all  the  population  lived 
on  the  fringe  of  sea-coast.  And  even  on  the 
coast,  prudent  men  have  begun  to  see  that  every 
American  should  be  educated  with  a  view  to  the 
values  of  land.  The  arts  of  engineering  and  of 
architecture  are  studied;  scientific  agriculture  is 
an  object  of  growing  attention  ;  the  mineral 
riches  are  explored ;  limestone,  coal,  slate,  and 
iron ;  and  the  value  of  timber-lands  is  enhanced. 
Columbus  alleged  as  a  reason  for  seeking  a 
continent  in  the  West,  that  the  harmony  of  na 
ture  required  a  great  tract  of  land  in  the  western 
hemisphere,  to  balance  the  known  extent  of 
land  in  the  eastern  ;  and  it  now  appears  that  we 
must  estimate  the  native  values  of  this  broad 
region  to  redress  the  balance  of  our  own  judg 
ments,  and  appreciate  the  advantages  opened  to 
30* 


354  THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN. 

the  human  race  in  this  country,  which  is  our 
fortunate  home.  The  land  is  the  appointed 
remedy  for  whatever  is  false  and  fantastic  in 
our  culture.  The  continent  we  inhabit  is  to  be 
physic  and  food  for  our  mind,  as  well  as  our 
body.  The  land,  with  its  tranquilizing,  sanative 
influences,  is  to  repair  the  errors  of  a  scholastic 
and  traditional  education,  and  bring  us  into  just 
relations  with  men  and  things. 

The  habit  of  living  in  the  presence  of  these 
invitations  of  natural  wealth  is  not  inoperative  ; 
and  this  habit,  combined  with  the  moral  senti 
ment  which,  in  the  recent  ye,ars,  has  interrogated 
every  institution,  usage,  and  law,  has,  naturally, 
given  a  strong  direction  to  the  wishes  and  aims 
of  active  young  men  to  withdraw  from  cities, 
and  cultivate  the  soil.  This  inclination  has 
appeared  in  the  most  unlocked  for  quarters,  in 
men  supposed  to  be  absorbed  in  business,  and 
in  those  connected  with  the  liberal  professions. 
And,  since  the  walks  of  trade  were  crowded, 
whilst  that  of  agriculture  cannot  easily  be,  inas 
much  as  the  farmer  who  is  not  wanted  by  others 
can  yet  grow  his  own  bread,  whilst  the  manu 
facturer  or  the  trader,  who  is  not  wanted,  can 
not,  —  this  seemed  a  happy  tendency.  For, 
beside  all  the  moral  benefit  which  we  may  ex 
pect  from  the  farmer's  profession,  when  a  man 


THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN.  355 

enters  it  considerately,  this  promised  the  con 
quering  of  the  soil,  plenty,  and  beyond  this,  the 
adorning  of  the  country .  with  every  advantage 
and  ornament  which  labor,  ingenuity,  and  affec 
tion  for  a  man's  home,  could  suggest. 

Meantime,  with  cheap  land,  and  the  pacific 
disposition  of  the  people,  every  thing  invites 
to  the  arts  of  agriculture,  of  gardening,  and 
domestic  architecture.  Public  gardens,  on  the 
scale  of  such  plantations  in  Europe  and  Asia, 
are  now  unknown  to  us.  There  is  no  feature 
of  the  old  countries  that  strikes  an  American 
with  more  agreeable  surprise  than  the  beautiful 
gardens  of  Europe  ;  such  as  the  Boboli  in  Flor 
ence,  the  Villa  Borghese  in  Rome,  the  Villa 
d'Este  in  Tivoli,  the  gardens  at  Munich,  and  at 
Frankfort  on  the  Maine  :  works  easily  imitated 
here,  and  which  might  well  make  the  land  dear 
to  the  citizen,  and  inflame  patriotism.  It  is  the 
fine  art  which  is  left  for  us,  now  that  sculpture, 
painting,  and  religious  and  civil  architecture 
have  become  effete,  and  have  passed  into  second 
childhood.  We  have  twenty  degrees  of  lati 
tude  wherein  to  choose  a  seat,  and  the  new 
modes  of  travelling  enlarge  the  opportunity  of 
selection,  by  making  it  easy  to  cultivate  very 
distant  tracts,  and  yet  remain  in  strict  intercourse 
with  the  centres  of  trade  and  population.  And 


356  THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN. 

the  whole  force  of  all  the  arts  goes  to  facilitate 
the  decoration  of  lands  and  dwellings.  A  gar 
den  has  this  advantage,  that  it  makes  it  indiffer 
ent  where  you  live.  A  well-laid  garden  makes 
the  face  of  the  country  of  no  account ;  let  that 
be  low  or  high,  grand  or  mean,  you  have  made 
a  beautiful  abode  worthy  of  man.  If  the  land 
scape  is  pleasing,  the  garden  shows  it,  —  if  tame, 
it  excludes  it.  A  little  grove,  which  any  farmer 
can  find,  or  cause  to  grow  near  his  house,  will, 
in  a  few  years,  make  cataracts  and  chains  of 
mountains  quite  unnecessary  to  his  scenery  ;  and 
he  is  so  contented  with  his  alleys,  woodlands, 
orchards  and  river,  that  Niagara,  and  the  Notch 
of  the  White  Hills,  and  Nantasket  Beach,  are 
superfluities.  And  yet  the  selection  of  a  fit 
houselot  has  the  same  advantage  over  an  indif 
ferent  one,  as  the  selection  to  a  given  employ 
ment  of  a  man  who  has  a  genius  *for  that 
work.  In  the  last  case,  the  culture  of  years 
will  never  make  the  most  painstaking  appren 
tice  his  equal:  no  more  will  gardening  give 
the  advantage  of  a  happy  site  to  a  house 
in  a  hole  or  on  a  pinnacle.  In  America,  we 
have  hitherto  little  to  boast  in  this  kind.  The 
cities  drain  the  country  of  the  best  part  of  its 
population:  the  flower  of  the  youth,  of  both 
sexes,  goes  into  the  towns,  and  the  country  is 


THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN.  357 

cultivated  by  a  so  much  inferior  class.  The 
land,  —  travel  a  whole  day  together,  —  looks 
poverty-stricken,  and  the  buildings  plain  and 
poor.  In  Europe,  where  society  has  an  aristo 
cratic  structure,  the  land  is  full  of,  men  of  the 
best  stock,  and  the  best  culture,  whose  interest 
and  pride  it  is  to  remain  half  the  year  on  their 
estates,  and  to  fill  them  with  every  convenience 
and  ornament.  Of  course,  these  make  model 
farms,  and  model  architecture,  and  are  a  constant 
education  to  the  eye  of  the  surrounding  popula 
tion.  Whatever  events  in  progress  shall  go  to 
disgust  men  with  pities,  and  infuse  into  them 
the  passion  for  country  life,  and  country  pleas 
ures,  will  render  a  service  to  the  whole  face  of 
this  continent,  and  will  further  the  most  poetic 
of  ah1  the  occupations  of  real  life,  the  bringing 
out  by  art  the  native  but  hidden  graces  of  the 
landscape. 

I  look  on  sirch  improvements,  also,  as  directly 
tending  to  endear  the  land  to  the  inhabitant. 
Any  relation  to  the  land,  the  habit  of  tilling 
it,  or  mining  it,  or  even  hunting  on  it,  gener 
ates  the  feeling  of  patriotism.  He  who  keeps 
shop  on  it,  or  he  who  merely  uses  it  as  a 
support  to  his  desk  and  ledger,  or  to  his  man 
ufactory,  values  it  le^s.  The  vast  majority  of 
the  people  of  this  country  live  by  the  land, 


358  THE   YOUNG  AMERICAN. 

and  carry  its  quality  in  their  manners  and  opin 
ions.  We  in  the  Atlantic  states,  by  position, 
have  been  commercial,  and  have,  as  I  said,  im 
bibed  easily  an  European  culture.  Luckily  for 
us,  now  that  steam  has  narrowed  the  Atlantic  to 
a  strait,  the  nervous,  rocky  West  is  intruding  a 
new  and  continental  element  into  the  national 
mind,  and  we  shall  yet  have  an  American 
genius.  How  much  better  when  the  whole 
land  is  a  garden,  and  the  people  have  grown  up 
in  the  bowers  of  a  paradise.  Without  looking, 
then,  to  those  extraordinary  social  influences 
which  are  now  acting  in  precisely  this  direction, 
but  only  at  what  is  inevitably  doing  around 
us,  I  think  we  must  regard  the  land  as  a  com 
manding  and  increasing  power  on  the  citizen, 
the  sanative  and  Americanizing  influence,  which 
promises  to  disclose  new  virtues  for  ages  to 
come. 

2.  In  the  second  place,  the  uprise  and  culmi 
nation  of  the  new  and  anti-feudal  power  of  Com 
merce,  is  the  political  fact  of  most  significance 
to  the  American  at  this  hour. 

We  cannot  look  on  the  freedom  of  this  coun 
try,  in  connexion  with  its  youth,  without  a  pre 
sentiment  that  here  shall  laws  and  institutions 
exist  on  some  scale  of  proportion  to  the  majesty 
of  nature.  To  men  legislating  for  the  area 


THE   YOUNG  AMERICAN.  359 

betwixt  the  two  oceans,  betwixt  the  snows 
and  the  tropics,  somewhat  of  the  gravity  of 
nature  will  infuse  itself  into  the  code.  A 
heterogeneous  population  crowding  on  all  ships 
from  all  corners  of  the  world  to  the  great  gates 
of  North  America,  namely,  Boston,  New  York, 
and  New  Orleans,  and  thence  proceeding  inward 
to  the  prairie  and  the  mountains,  and  quickly 
contributing  their  private  thought  to  the  public 
opinion,  their  toll  to  the  treasury,  and  their  vote 
to  the  election,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  the 
legislation  of  this  country  should  become  more 
catholic  and  cosmopolitan  than  that  of  any  other. 
It  seems  so  easy  for  America  to  inspire  and  ex 
press  the  most  expansive  and  humane  spirit; 
new-born,  free,  healthful,  strong,  the  land  of  the 
laborer,  of  the  democrat,  of  the  philanthropist, 
of  the  believer,  of  the  saint,  she  should  speak 
for  the  human  race.  It  is  the  country  of  the 
Future.  From  Washington,  proverbially  '  the 
city  of  magnificent  distances,'  through  all  its 
cities,  states,  and  territories,  it  is  a  country  of 
beginnings,  of  projects,  of  designs,  of  expec 
tations. 

Gentlemen,  there  is  a  sublime  and  friendly 
Destiny  by  which  the  human  race  is  guided,  — 
the  race  never  dying,  the  individual  never 
spared,  —  to  results  affecting  masses  and  ages. 


360  THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN. 

Men  are  narrow  and  selfish,  but  the  Genius  or 
Destiny  is  not  narrow,  but  beneficent.  It  is  not 
discovered  in  their  calculated  and  voluntary  ac 
tivity,  but  in  what  befalls,  with  or  without  their 
design.  Only  what  is  inevitable  interests  us, 
and  it  turns  out  that  love  and  good  are  inevi 
table,  and  in  the  course  of  things.  That  Genius 
has  infused  itself  into  nature.  It  indicates  itself 
by  a  small  excess  of  good,  a  small  balance  in 
brute  facts  always  favorable  to  the  side  of  rea 
son.  All  the  facts  in  any  part  of  nature  shall  be 
tabulated,  and  the  results  shall  indicate  the  same 
security  and  benefit;  so  slight  as  to  be  hardly 
observable,  and  yet  it  is  there.  The  sphere 
is  flattened  at  the  poles,  and  swelled  at  the 
equator ;  a  form  flowing  necessarily  from  the 
fluid  state,  yet  the  form,  the  mathematician 
assures  us,  required  to  prevent  the  protuberances 
of  the  continent,  or  even  of  lesser  mountains 
cast  up  at  any  time  by  earthquakes,  from  con 
tinually  deranging  the  axis  of  the  earth.  The 
census  of  the  population  is  found  to  keep  an  in 
variable  equality  in  the  sexes,  with  a  trifling 
predominance  in  favor  of  the  male,  as  if  to 
counterbalance  the  necessarily  increased  expo 
sure  of  male  life  in  war,  navigation,  and  other 
accidents.  Remark  the  unceasing  effort  through 
out  nature  at  somewhat  better  than  the  actual 


THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN.  361 

creatures :  amelioration  in  nature,  which  alone 
permits  and  authorizes  amelioration  in  mankind. 
The  population  of  the  world  is  a  conditional 
population ;  these  are  not  the  best,  but  the  best 
that  could  live  in  the  existing  state  of  soils, 
gases,  animals,  and  morals :  the  best  that  could 
yet  live  ;  there  shall  be  a  better,  please  God. 
This  Genius,  or  Destiny,  is  of  the  sternest  ad 
ministration,  though  rumors  exist  of  its  secret 
tenderness.  It  may  be  styled  a  cruel  kindness, 
serving  the  whole  even  to  the  ruin  of  the  mem 
ber  ;  a  terrible  communist,  reserving  all  profits  to 
the  community,  without  dividend  to  individuals. 
Its  law  is,  you  shall  have  everything  as  a  mem 
ber,  nothing  to  yourself.  For  Nature  is  the 
noblest  engineer,  yet  uses  a  grinding  economy, 
working  up  all  that  is  wasted  to-day  into  to 
morrow's  creation  ;  —  not  a  superfluous  grain  of 
sand,  for  all  the  ostentation  she  makes  of  ex 
pense  and  public  works.  It  is  because  Nature 
thus  saves  and  uses,  laboring  for  the  general, 
that  we  poor,  particulars  are  so  crushed  and 
straitened,  and  find  it  so  hard  to  live.  She  flung 
us  out  in  her  plenty,  but  we  cannot  shed  a  hair, 
or  a  paring  of  a  nail,  but  instantly  she  snatches 
at  the  shred,  and  appropriates  it  to  the  general 
stock.  Our  condition  is  like  that  of  the  poor 
wolves :  if  one  of  the  flock  wound  himself,  or 
31 


862  THE    YOUNG   AMERICAN. 

so  much  as  limp,  the  rest  eat  him  up  inconti 
nently. 

That  serene  Power  interposes  the  check  upon 
the  caprices  and  officiousness  of  our  wills.  Its 
charity  is  not  our  charity.  One  of  its  agents 
is  our  will,  but  that  which  expresses  itself 
in  our  will,  is  stronger  than  our  will.  We 
are  very  forward  to  help  it,  but  it  will  not  be 
accelerated.  It  resists  our  meddling,  eleemosy 
nary  contrivances.  We  devise  sumptuary  and 
relief  laws,  but  the  principle  of  population  is 
always  reducing  wages  to  the  lowest  pittance 
on  which  human  life  can  be  sustained.  We  leg 
islate  against  forestalling  and  monopoly ;  we 
would  have  a  common  granary  for  the  poor ; 
but  the  selfishness  which  hoards  the  corn  for 
high  prices,  is  the  preventive  of.  famine;  and 
the  law  of  self-preservation  is  surer  policy  than 
any  legislation  can  be.  We  concoct  eleemosy 
nary  systems,  and  it  turns  out  that  our  char 
ity  increases  pauperism.  We  inflate  our  paper 
currency,  we  repair  commerce  with  unlimited 
credit,  and  are  presently  visited  with  unlimited 
bankruptcy. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  existing  generation 
are  conspiring  with  a  beneficence,  which,  in 
its  working  for  coming  generations,  sacrifices 
the  passing  one,  which  infatuates  the  most  self- 


THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN.  863 

ish  men  to  act  against  their  private  interest  for 
the  public  welfare.  We  build  railroads,  we  know 
not  for  what  or  for  whom ;  but  one  thing  is 
certain,  that  we  who  build  will  receive  the  very 
smallest  share  of  benefit.  Benefit  will  accrue ; 
they  are  essential  to  the.  country,  but  that  will 
be  felt  not  until  we  are  no  longer  countrymen. 
We  do  the  like  in  all  matters  :  — 

"  Man's  heart  the  Almighty  to  the  Future  set 
By  secret  and  inviolable  springs." 

We  plant  trees,  we  build  stone  houses,  we  re 
deem  the  waste,  wre  make  prospective  laws, 
we  found  colleges  and  hospitals,  for  remote 
generations.  We  should  be  mortified  to  learn 
that  the  little  benefit  we  chanced  in  our  own 
persons  to  receive  was  the  utmost  they  would 
yield. 

The  history  of  commerce,  is  the  record  of  this 
beneficent  tendency.  The  patriarchal  form  of 
government  readily  becomes  despotic,  as  each 
person  may  see  in  his  own  family.  Fathers 
wish  to  be  the  fathers  of  the  minds  of  their 
children,  and  behold  with  impatience  a  new 
character  and  way  of  thinking  presuming  to 
show  itself  in  their  own  son  or  daughter.  This 
feeling,  which  all  their  love  and  pride  in  the 
powers  of  their  children  cannot  subdue,  becomes 


364  THE   YOUNG  AMERICAN. 

petulance  and  tyranny  when  the  head  of  the 
clan,  the  emperor  of  an  empire,  deals  with  the 
same  difference  of  opinion  in  his  subjects.  Dif 
ference  of  opinion  is  the  one  crime  which  kings 
never  forgive.  An  empire  is  an  immense  ego 
tism.  "  I  am  the  State,"  said  the  French  Louis. 
When  a  French  ambassador  mentioned  to  Paul 
of  Russia,  that  a  man  of  consequence  in  St. 
Petersburg  was  interesting  himself  in  some 
matter,  the  Czar  interrupted  him,  — "  There  is 
no  man  of  consequence  in  this  empire,  but  he 
with  whom  I  am  actually  speaking ;  and  so  long 
only  as  I  am  speaking  to  him,  is  he  of  any  con 
sequence."  And  Nicholas,  the  present  emperor, 
is  reported  to  have  said  to  his  council,  "  The  age 
is  embarrassed  with  new  opinions ;  rely  on  me, 
gentlemen,  I  shall  oppose  an  iron  will  to  the 
progress  of  liberal  opinions." 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  this  patriarchal  or  family 
management  gets  to  be  rather  troublesome  to  all 
but  the  papa ;  the  sceptre  comes  to  be  a  crow 
bar.  And  -this  unpleasant  egotism,  Feudalism 
opposes,  and  finally  destroys.  The  king  is 
compelled  to  call  in  the  aid  of  his  brothers 
and  cousins,  and  remote  relations,  to  help  him 
keep  his  overgrown  house  in  order;  and  this 
club  of  noblemen  always  come  at  last  to  have 
a  will  of  their  own ;  they  combine  to  brave 


THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN.  865 

the  sovereign,  and  call  in  the  aid  of  the  peo 
ple.  Each  chief  attaches  as  many  followers 
as  he  can,  by  kindness,  maintenance,  and  gifts  ; 
and  as  long  as  war  lasts,  the  nobles,  who 
must  be  soldiers,  rule  very  well.  But  when 
peace  comes,  the  nobles  prove  very  whimsical 
and  uncomfortable  masters  ;  their  frolics  turn 
out  to  be  insulting  and  degrading  to  the  com 
moner.  Feudalism  grew  to  be  a  bandit  and 
brigand. 

Meantime  Trade  had  begun  to  appear :  Trade, 
a  plant  which  grows  wherever  there  is  peace, 
as  soon  as  there  is  peace,  and  as  long  as  there 
is  peace.  The  luxury  and  necessity  of  the  noble 
fostered  it.  And  as  quickly  as  men  go  to  foreign 
parts,  in  ships  or  caravans,  a  new  order  of  things 
springs  up;  new  command  takes  place,  new  ser 
vants  and  new  masters.  Their  information,  their 
wealth,  their  correspondence,  have  made  them 
quite  other  men  than  left  their  native  shore. 
They  are  nobles  now,  and  by  another  patent 
than  the  king's.  Feudalism  had  been  good,  had 
broken  the  power  of  the  kings,  and  had  some 
good  traits  of  its  own ;  but  it  had  grown  mis 
chievous,  it  was  time  for  it  to  die,  and,  as  they 
say  of  dying  people,  all  its  faults  came  out. 
Trade  was  the  strong  man  that  broke  it  down, 
and  raised  a  new  and  unknown  power  in  its 
31* 


366  THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN. 

place.  It  is  a  new  agent  in  the  world,  and  one 
of  great  function ;  it  is  a  very  intellectual  force. 
This  displaces  physical  strength,  and  instals 
computation,  combination,  information,  science, 
in  its  room.  It  calls  out  all  force  of  a  certain 
kind  that  slumbered  in  the  former  dynasties.  It 
is  now  in  the  midst  of  its  career.  Feudalism  is 
not  ended  yet.  Our  governments  still  partake 
largely  of  that  element.  Trade  goes  to  make 
the  governments  insignificant,  and  to  bring  every 
kind  of  faculty  of  every  individual  that  can  in 
any  manner  serve  any  person,  on  sale.  Instead 
of  a  huge  Army  and  Navy,  and  Executive  De 
partments,  it  converts  Government  into  an  Intel 
ligence-Office,  where  every  man  may  find  what 
he  wishes  to  buy,  and  expose  what  he  has  to 
sell,  not  only  produce  and  manufactures,  but  art, 
skill,  and  intellectual  and  moral  values.  This  is 
the  good  and  this  the  evil  of  trade,  that  it  would 
put  everything  into  market,  talent,  beauty,  virtue, 
and  man  himself. 

By  this  means,  however,  it  has  done  its  work. 
It  has  its  faults,  and  will  come  to  an  end,  as 
the  others  do.  The  philosopher  and  lover  of 
man  have  much  harm  to  say  of  trade  ;  but 
the  historian  will  see  that  trade  was  the  prin 
ciple  of  Liberty  ;  that  trade  planted  America 
and  destroyed  Feudalism ;  that  it  makes  peace 


THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN.  367 

and  keeps  peace,  and  it  will  abolish  slavery. 
We  complain  of  its  oppression  of  the  poor,  and 
of  its  building  up  a  new  aristocracy  on  the 
ruins  of  the  aristocracy  it  destroyed.  But  the 
aristocracy  of  trade  has  no  permanence,  is  not 
entailed,  was  the  result  of  toil  and  talent,  the 
result  of  merit  of  some  kind,  and  is  continu 
ally  falling,  like  the  waves  of  the  sea,  before 
new  claims  of  the  same  sort.  Trade  is*  an  in 
strument  in  the  hands  of  that  friendly  Power 
which  works  for  us  in  our  own  despite.  We 
design  it  thus  and  thus ;  it  turns  out  other 
wise  and  far  better.  This  beneficent  tendency, 
omnipotent  without  violence,  exists  and  works. 
Every  line  of  history  inspires  a  confidence 
that  wre  shall  not  go  far  wrong  ;  that  things 
mend.  That  is  the  moral  of  all  we  learn,  that 
it  warrants  Hope,  the  prolific  mother  of  reforms. 
Our  part  is  plainly  not  to  throw  ourselves  across 
the  track,  to  block  improvement,  and  sit  till 
we  are  stone,  but  to  watch  the  uprise  of  succes 
sive  mornings,  and  to  conspire  with  the  new 
works  of  new  days.  Government  has  been  a 
fossil ;  it  should  be  a  plant.  I  conceive  that  the 
office  of  statute  law  should  be  to  express,  and 
not  to  impede  the  mind  of  mankind.  New 
thoughts,  new  things.  Trade  was  one  instru 
ment,  but  Trade  is  also  but  for  a  time,  and  must 


368  THE   YOUNG   AMEKICAN. 

give  way  to  somewhat  broader  and  better,  whose 
signs  are  already  dawning  in  the  sky. 

3.  I  pass  to  speak  of  the  signs  of  that  which 
is  the  sequel  of  trade. 

In  consequence  of  the  revolution  in  the  state 
of  society  wrought  by  trade,  Government  in 
our  times  is  beginning  to  wear  a  clumsy  and 
cumbrous  appearance.  We  have  already  seen 
our  way  to  shorter  methods.  The  time  is  full 
of  good  signs.  Some  of  them  shall  ripen  to 
fruit.  All  this  beneficent  socialism  is  a  friendly 
omen,  and  the  swelling  cry  of  voices  for  the  edu 
cation  of  the  people,  indicates  that  Government 
has  other  offices  than  those  of  banker  and  execu 
tioner.  Witness  the  new  movements  in  the 
civilized  world,  the  Communism  of  France,  Ger 
many,  and  Switzerland  ;  the  Trades'  Unions  : 
the  English  League  against  the  Corn  Laws  ;  and 
the  whole  Industrial  Statistics,  so  called.  In 
Paris,  the  blouse,  the  badge  of  the  operative, 
has  begun  to  make  its.  appearance  in  the  saloons. 
Witness,  too,  the  spectacle  of  three  Communities 
which  hav.e  within  a  very  short  time  sprung 
up  within  this  Commonwealth,  besides  several 
others  undertaken  by  citizens  of  Massachusetts 
within  the  territory  of  other  States.  These  pro 
ceeded  from  a  variety  of  motives,  from  an  impa 
tience  of  many  usages  in  common  life,  from  a 


THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN.  369 

wish  for  greater  freedom  than  the  manners  and 
opinions  of  society  permitted,  but  in  great  part 
from  a  feeling  that  the  true  offices  of  the  State, 
the  State  had  let  fall  to  the  ground ;  that  in  the 
scramble  of  parties  for  the  public  purse,  the  main 
duties  of  government  were  omitted,  —  the  duty 
to  instruct  the  ignorant,  to  supply  the  poor  with 
work  and  with  good  guidance.  These  com 
munists  preferred  the  agricultural  life  as  the 
most  favorable  condition  for  human  culture  ;  but 
they  thought  that  the  farm,  as  we  manage  it, 
did  not  satisfy  the  right  ambition  of  man.  The 
farmer,  after  sacrificing  pleasure,  taste,  freedom, 
thought,  love,  to  his  work,  turns  out  often  a 
bankrupt,  like  the  merchant.  This  result  might 
well  seem  astounding.  All  this  drudgery,  from 
cockcrowing  to  starlight,  for  all  these  years,  to 
end  in  mortgages  and  the  auctioneer's  flag,  and 
removing  from  bad  to  worse.  It  is  time  to  have 
the  thing  looked  into,  and  with  a  sifting  criti 
cism  ascertained  who  is  the  fool.  It  seemed  a 
great  deal  worse,  because  the  farmer  is  living  in 
the  same  town  with  men  who  pretend  to  know 
exactly  what  he  wants.  On^one  side,  is  agricul 
tural  chemistry,  coolly  exposing  the  nonsense  of 
our  spendthrift  agriculture  and  ruinous  expense 
of  manures,  and  offering,  by  means  of  a  tea- 
spoonful  of  artificial  guano,  to  turn  a  sandbank 


370  THE    YOUNG   AMERICAN. 

into  corn  ;  and,  on  the  other,  the  farmer,  not 
only  eager  for  the  information,  but  with  bad 
crops  and  in  debt  and  bankruptcy,  for  want  of 
it.  Here  are  Etzlers  and  mechanical  projectors, 
who,  with  the  Fourierists,  undoubtingly  affirm 
that  the  smallest  union  would  make  every  man 
rich ;  —  and,  on  the  other  side,  a  multitude  of 
poor  men  and  women  seeking  work,  and  who 
cannot  find  enough  to  pay  their  board.  The 
science  is  confident,  and  surely  the  poverty  is 
real.  If  any  means  could  -be  found  to  bring 
these  two  together ! 

This  was  one  design  of  the  projectors  of  the 
Associations  which  are  now  making  their  first 
feeble  experiments.  They  were  founded  in  love, 
and  in  labor.  They  proposed,  as  you  know, 
that  all  men  should  take  a  part  in  the  manual 
toil,  and  proposed  to  amend  the  condition  of 
men,  by  substituting  harmonious  for  hostile  in 
dustry.  It  was  a  noble  thought  of  Fourier, 
which  gives  a  favorable  idea  of  his  system,  to 
distinguish  in  his  Phalanx  a  class  as  the  Sacred 
Band,  by  whom  whatever  duties  were  disagree 
able,  and  likely  to  be  omitted,  were  to  be  as 
sumed. 

At  least,  an  economical  success  seemed  certain 
for  the  enterprise,  and  that  agricultural  associa 
tion  must,  sooner  or  later,  fix  the  price  of  bread, 


THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN.  371 

and  drive  single  farmers  into  association,  in  self- 
defence  ;  as  the  great  commercial  and  manufac 
turing  companies  had  already  done.  The  Com 
munity  is  only  the  continuation  of  the  same 
movement  which  made  the  joint-stock  compa 
nies  for  manufactures,  mining,  insurance,  bank 
ing,  and  so  forth.  It  has  turned  out  cheaper  to 
make  calico  by  companies ;  and  it  is  proposed 
to  plant  corn,  and  to  bake  bread  by  com 
panies 

Undoubtedly,  abundant  mistakes  will  be  made 
by  these  first  adventurers,  which  will  draw  ridi 
cule  on  their  schemes.  I  think,  for  example, 
that  they  exaggerate  the  importance  of  a  favor 
ite  project  of  theirs,  that  of  paying  talent  and 
labor  at  one  rate,  paying  all  sorts  of  service  at 
one  rate,  say  ten  cents  the  hour.  They  have 
paid  it  so ;  but  not  an  instant  would  a  dime 
remain  a  dime.  In  one  hand  it  became  an 
eagle  as  it  fell,  and  in  another  hand  a  copper 
cent.  For  the  whole  value  of  the  dime  is  in 
knowing  what  to  do  with  it.  One  man  buys 
with  it  a  land-title  of  an  Indian,  and  makes  his 
posterity  princes ;  or  buys  corn  enough  to  feed 
the  world ;,  or  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  or  a  painter's 
brush,  by  which  he  can  communicate  himself 
to  the  human  race  as  if  he  were  fire ;  and  the 
other  buys  barley  candy.  Money  is  of  no  value  ; 


372  THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN. 

it  cannot  spend  itself.  All  depends  on  the  skill 
of  the  spender.  Whether,  too,  the  objection  al 
most  universally  felt  by  such  women  in  the  com 
munity  as  were  mothers,  to  an  associate  life,  to  a 
common  table,  and  a  common  nursery,  &c.,  set 
ting  a  higher  value  on  the  private  family  with 
poverty,  than  on  an  association  with  wealth,  will 
not  prove  insuperable,  remains  to  be  determined. 

But  the  Communities  aimed  at  a  higher  suc 
cess  in  securing  to  all  their  members  an  equal 
and  thorough  education.  And  on  the  whole, 
one  may  say,  that  aims  so  generous,  and  so 
forced  on  them  by  the  times,  will  not  be  relin 
quished,  even  if  these  attempts  fail,  but  will  be 
prosecuted  until  they  succeed. 

This  is  the  value  of  the  Communities ;  not 
what  they  have  done,  but  the  revolution  which 
they  indicate  as  on  the  way.  Yes-,  Government 
must  educate  the  poor  man.  Look  across  the 
country  from  any  hill-side  around  us,  and  the 
landscape  seems  to  crave  Government.  The 
actual  differences  of  men  must  be  acknowledged, 
and  met  with  love  and  wisdom.  These  rising 
grounds  which  command  the  champaign  below, 
seem  to  ask  for  lords,  true  lords,  land-lords,  who 
understand  the  land  and  its  uses,  and  the  appli 
cabilities  of  men,  and  whose  government  would 
be  what  it  should,  namely,  mediation  between 


THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN.  373 

want  and  supply.  How  gladly  would  each  citi 
zen  pay  a  commission  for  the  support  and  con 
tinuation  of  good  guidance.  None  should  be  a 
governor  who  has  not  a  talent  for  governing. 
Now  many  people  have  a  native  skill  for  carv 
ing  out  business  for  many  hands ;  a  genius  for 
the  disposition  of  affairs ;  and  are  never  hap 
pier  than  when  difficult  practical  questions, 
which  embarrass  other  men,  are  to  be  solved. 
All  lies  in  light  before  them ;  they  are  in  their 
element.  Could  any  means  be  contrived  to  ap 
point  only  these !  There  really  seems  a  progress 
towards  such  a  state  of  things,  in  which  this 
work  shall  be  done  by  these  naturaLworkmen ; 
and  this,  not  certainly  through  any  increased 
discretion  shown  by  the  citizens  at  elections, 
but  by  the  gradual  contempt  into  which  official 
government  falls,  and  the  increasing  disposition 
of  private  adventurers  to  assume  its  fallen  func 
tions.  Thus  the  costly  Post  Office  is  likely  to 
go  into  disuse  before  the  private  transportation- 
shop  of  Harnden  and  his  competitors.  The  cur 
rency  threatens  to  fall  entirely  into  private  hands. 
Justice  is  continually  administered  more  and 
more  by  private  reference,  and  not  by  litigation. 
We  have  feudal  governments  in  a  commercial 
age.  It  would  be  but  an  easy  extension  of  our 
commercial  system,  to  pay  a  private  emperor 
32 


374  THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN. 

a  fee  for  services,  as  we  pay  an  architect,  * 
an  engineer,  or  a  lawyer.  If  any  man  has  a 
talent  for  righting  wrong,  for  administering  diffi 
cult  affairs,  for  counselling  poor  farmers  how  to 
turn  their  estates  to  good  husbandry,  for  com 
bining  a  hundred  private  enterprises  to  a  general 
benefit,  let  him  in  the  county-town,  or  in  Court- 
street,  put  up  his  sign-board,  Mr*.  Smith,  Gov 
ernor ,  Mr.  Johnson,  Working  king. 

How  can  our  young  men  complain  of  the  pov 
erty  of  things  in  New  England,  and  not  feel  that 
poverty  as  a  demand  on  their  charity  to  make 
New  England  rich  ?  Where  is  he  who  seeing  a 
thousand  men  useless  and  unhappy,  and  mak 
ing  the  whole  region  forlorn  by  their  inaction, 
and  conscious  himself  of  possessing  the  faculty 
they  want,  does  not  hear  his  call  to  go  and  be 
their  king  ? 

We  must  have  kings,  and  we  must  have  no 
bles.  Nature  provides  such  in  every  society,  — 
only  let  us  have  the  real  instead  of  the  titular. 
Let  us  have  our  leading  and  our  inspiration  from 
the  best.  In  every  society  some  men  are  born 
to  rule,  and  some  to  advise.  Let  the  powers  be 
well  directed,  directed  by  love,  and  they  would 
everywhere  be  greeted  with  joy  and  honor.  The 
chief  is  the  chief  all  the  world  over,  only  not 
his  cap  and  his  plume.  It  is  only  their  xiis- 


THE   YOUNG  AMERICAN.  375 

like  of  the  pretender,  which  makes  men  some 
times  unjust  to  the  accomplished  man.  If  so 
ciety  were  transparent,  the  noble  would  every 
where  be  gladly  received  and  accredited,  and 
would  not  be  asked  for  his  day's  work,  but  would 
be  felt  as  benefit,  inasmuch  as  he  was  noble. 
That  were  his  duty  and  stint,  —  to  keep  himself 
pure  and  purifying,  the  leaven  of  his  nation.  I 
think  I  see  place  and  duties  for  a  nobleman  in 
every  society ;  but  it  is  not  to  drink  wine  and 
ride  in  a  fine  coach,  but  to  guide  and  adorn  life 
for  the  multitude  by  forethought,  by  elegant 
studies,  by  perseverance,  self-devotion,  and  the 
remembrance  of  the  humble  old  friend,  by  mak 
ing  his  life  secretly  beautiful. 

I  call  upon  you,  young  men,  to  obey  your 
heart,  and  be  the  nobility  of  this  land.  In  every 
age  of  the  world,  there  has  been  a  leading  na 
tion,  one  of  a  more  generous  sentiment,  whose 
eminent  citizens  were  willing  to  stand  for  the 
interests  of  general  justice  and  humanity,  at  the 
risk  of  being  called,  by  the  men  of  the  moment, 
chimerical  and  fantastic.  Which  should  be  that 
nation  but  these  States  ?  Which  should  lead 
that  movement,  if  not  New  England?  Who 
should  lead  the  leaders,  but  the  Young  Ameri 
can  ?  The  people,  and  the  world,  is  now  suffer* 
ing.  from  the  want  of  religion  and  honor  in  its 


376  THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN. 

public  mind.  In  America,  out  of  doors  all  seems 
a  market;  in  doors,  an  air-tight  stove  of  con 
ventionalism.  Every  body  who  comes  into  our 
houses  savors  of  these  habits ;  the  men,  of  the 
I  market ;  the  women,  of  the  custom.  I  find  no 
expression  in  our  state  papers  or  legislative  de 
bate,  in  our  lyceums  or  churches,  specially  in 
our  newspapers,  of  a  high  national  feeling,  no 
lofty  counsels,  that  rightfully  stir  the  blood.  I 
speak  of  those  organs  which  can  be  presumed 
to  speak  a  popular  sense.  They  recommend 
conventional  virtues,  whatever  will  earn  and 
preserve  property ;  always  the  capitalist ;  the 
college,  the  church,  the  hospital,  the  theatre,  the 
hotel,  the  road,  the  ship,  of  the  capitalist, — 
whatever  goes  to  secure,  adorn,  enlarge  these,  is 
good;  what  jeopardizes  any  of  these,  is  damna 
ble.  The  <  opposition '  papers,  so  called,  are  on 
the  same  side.  They  attack  the  great  capitalist, 
but  with  the  aim  to  make  a  capitalist  of  the  poor 
man.  The  opposition  is  against  those  who  have 
money,  from  those  who  wish  to  have  money. 
But  who  announces  to  us  in  journal,  or  in  pul 
pit,  or  in  the  street,  the  secret  of  heroism, 

"  Man  alone 
Can  perform  the  impossible  ?  " 

I  shall  not  need  to  go  into  an  enumeration  of 


THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN.  877 

our  national  defects  and  vices  which  require  this 
Order  of  Censors  in  the  state.  I  might  not  set 
down  our  most  proclaimed  offences  as  the  worst. 
It  is  not  often  the  worst  trait  that  occasions  the 
loudest  outcry.  Men  complain  of  their  suffering, 
and  not  of  the  crime.  I  fear  little  from  the  bad 
effect  of  Repudiation  ;  I  do  not  fear  that  it  will 
spread.  Stealing  is  a  suicidal  business  ;  you  can 
not  repudiate  but  once.  But  the  bold  face  and 
tardy  repentance  permitted  to  this  local  mischief, 
reveal  a  public  mind  so  preoccupied  with  the 
love  of  gain,  that  the  common  sentiment  of  in 
dignation  at  fraud  does  not  act  with  its  natural 
force.  The  more  need  of  a  withdrawal  from  the 
crowd,  and  a  resort  to  the  fountain  of  right,  by 
the  brave.  The  timidity  of  our  public  opinion, 
is  our  disease,  or,  shall  I  say,  the  publicness  of 
opinion,  the  absence  of  private  opinion.  Good 
nature  is  plentiful,  but  we  want  justice,  with 
heart  of  steel,  to  fight  down  the  proud.  The 
private  mind  has  the  access  to  the  totality  of 
goodness  and  truth,  that  it  may  be  a  balance  to 
.a  corrupt  society ;  and  to  stand  for  the  private 
verdict  against  popular  clamor,  is  the  office  of 
the  noble.  If  a  humane  measure  is  propounded 
in  behalf  of  the  slave,  or  of  the  Irishman,  or  the 
Catholic,  or  for  the  succor  of  the  poor,  that  sen 
timent,  that  project,  will  have  the  homage  of  the 
32* 


378  THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN. 

hero.  That  is  his  nobility,  his  oath  of  knight 
hood,  to  succor  the  helpless  and  oppressed ; 
always  to  throw  himself  on  the  side  of  weak 
ness,  of  youth,  of  hope,  on  the  liberal,  on  the 
expansive  side,  never  on  the  defensive,  the  con 
serving,  the  timorous,  the  lock  and  bolt  system. 
More  than  our  good-will  we  may  not  be  able  to 
give.  We  have  our  own  affairs,  our  own  genius, 
which  chains  us  to  our  proper  work.  We  can 
not  give  our  life  to  the  cause  of  the  debtor,  of 
the  slave,  or  the  pauper,  as  another  is  doing  ;  but 
to  one  thing  we  are  bound,  not  to  blaspheme  the 
sentiment  and  the  work  of  that  man,  not  to 
throw  stumbling-blocks  in  the  way  of  the  abo 
litionist,  the  philanthropist,  as  the  organs  of  in 
fluence  and  opinion  are  swift  to  do.  It  is  for  us 
to  confide  in  the  beneficent  Supreme  Power, 
and  not  to  rely  on  our  money,  and  on  the  state 
because  it  is  the  guard  of  money.  At  this  mo 
ment,  the  terror  of  old  people  and  of  vicious 
people,  is  lest  the  Union  of  these  States  be  de 
stroyed  :  as  if  the  Union  had  any  other  real 
basis  than  the  good  pleasure  of  a  majority  of  the 
citizens  to  be  united.  But  the  wise  and  just 
man  will  always  feel  that  he  stands  on  his  own 
feet ;  that  he  imparts  strength  to  the  state,  not 
receives  security  from  it ;  and  that  if  all  went 
down,  he  and  such  as  he  would  quite  easily 


THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN.  379 

combine  in  a  new  and  better  constitution.  Every 
great  and  memorable  community  has  consisted 
of  formidable  individuals,  who,  like  the  Roman 
or  the  Spartan,  lent  his  own  spirit  to  the  state 
and  made  it  great.  Yet  only  by  the  supernat 
ural  is  a  man  strong;  nothing  is  so  weak  as  an 
egotist.  Nothing  is  mightier  than  we,  when  we 
are  vehicles  of  a  truth  before  which  the  state 
and  the  individual  are  alike  ephemeral. 

Gentlemen,  the  development  of  our  American 
internal  resources,  the  extension  to  the  utmost 
of  the  commercial  system,  and  the  appearance  of 
new  moral  causes  which  are  to  modify  the  state, 
are  giving  an  aspect  of  greatness  to  the  Future, 
which  the  imagination  fears  to  open.  One  thing 
is  plain  for  all  men  of  common  sense  and  com 
mon  conscience,  that  here,  herte  in  America,  is 
the  home  of  man.  After  all  the  deductions 
which  are  to  be  made  for  our  pitiful  politics, 
which  stake  every  gravest  national  question 
on  the  silly  die,  whether  James  or  whether 
Jonathan  shall  sit  in  the '  chair  and  hold  the 
purse;  after  all  the  deduction  is  made  for  our 
frivolities  and  insanities,  there  still  remains  an 
organic  simplicity  and  liberty,  which,  when  it 
loses  its  balance,  redresses  itself  presently,  which 
offers  opportunity  to  the  human  mind  not  known 
in  any  other  region. 


380  THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN. 

It  is  true,  the  public  mind  wants  self-respect. 
We  are  full  of  vanity,  of  which  the  most  signal 
proof  is  our  sensitiveness  to  foreign  and  espec 
ially  English  censure.  One  cause  of  this  is  our 
immense  reading,  and  that  reading  chiefly  con 
fined  to  the  productions  of  the  English  press. 
It  is  also  true,  that,  to  imaginative  persons  in 
this  country,  there  is  somewhat  bare  and  bald 
in  our  short  history,  and  unsettled  wilderness. 
They  ask,  who  would  live  in  a  new  country, 
that  can  live  in  an  eld  ?  and  it  is  not  strange 
that  our  youths  and  maidens  should  burn  to 
see  the  picturesque  extremes  of  an  antiquated 
country.  But  it  is  one  thing  to  visit  the  pyra 
mids,  and  another  to  wish  to  live  there.  Would 
they  like  tithes  to  the  clergy,  and  sevenths  to 
the  government,  and  horse-guards,  and  licensed 
press,  and  grief  when  a  child  is  born,  and  threat 
ening,  starved  weavers,  and  a  pauperism  now 
constituting  one-thirteenth  of  the  population  ? 
Instead  of  the  open  future  expanding  here  be 
fore  the  eye  of  every  boy  to  vastness,  would 
they  like  the  closing  in  of  the  future  to  a  nar 
row  slit  of  sky,  and  that  fast  contracting  to  be 
no  future  ?  One  thing,  for  instance,  the  beauties 
of  aristocracy,  we  commend  to  the  study  of  the 
travelling  American.  The  English,  the  most 
conservative  people  this  side  of  India,  are  not 


THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN.  381 

sensible  of  the  restraint,  but  an  American  would 
seriously  resent  it.  The  aristocracy,  incorpo 
rated  by  law  and  education,  degrades  life  for 
the  unprivileged  classes.  It  is  a  questionable 
compensation  to  the  embittered  feeling  of  a 
proud  commoner,  the  reflection  that  a  fop,  who, 
by  the  magic  of  title,  paralyzes  his  arm,  and 
plucks  from  him  half  the  graces  and  rights 
of  a  man,  is  himself  also  an  aspirant  excluded 
with  the  same  ruthlessness  from  higher  circles, 
since  there  is  no  end  to  the  wheels  within 
wheels  of  this  spiral  heaven.  Something  may 
be  pardoned  to  the  spirit  of  loyalty  when  it  be 
comes  fantastic ;  and  something  to  the  imagina 
tion,  for  the  baldest  life  is  symbolic.  Philip  II. 
of  Spain  rated  his  ambassador  for  neglecting 
serious  affairs  in  Italy,  whilst  he  debated  some 
point  of  honor  with  the  French  ambassador ; 
"  You  have  left  a  business  of  importance  for  a 
ceremony."  The  ambassador  replied,  "  Your 
majesty's  self  is  but  a  ceremony."  In  the  East, 
where  the  religious  sentiment  comes  in  to  the 
support  of  the  aristocracy,  and  in  the  Romish 
church  also,  there  is  a  grain  of  sweetness  in  the 
tyranny  ;  but  in  England,  the  fact  seems  to  me 
intolerable,  what  is  commonly  affirmed,  that  such 
is  the  transcendent  honor  accorded  to  wealth  and 
birth,  that  no  man  of  letters,  be  his  eminence  what 


382  THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN. 

it  may,  is  received  into  the  best  society,  except  as 
a  lion  and  a  show.  The  English  have  many  vir 
tues,  many  advantages,  and  the  proudest  history 
of  the  world  ;  but  they  need  all,  and  more  than 
all  the  resources  of  the  past  to  indemnify  a  heroic 
gentleman  in  that  country  for  the  mortifications 
prepared  for  him  by  the  system  of  society,  and 
which  seem  to  impose  the  alternative  to  resist  or 
to  avoid  it.  That  there  are  mitigations  and  prac 
tical  alleviations  to  this  rigor,  is  not  an  excuse 
for  the  rule.  Commanding  worth,  and  personal 
power,  must  sit  crowned  in  all  companies,  nor 
will  extraordinary  persons  be  slighted  or  af 
fronted  in  any  company  of  civilized  men.  But 
the  system  is  an  invasion  of  the  sentiment  of 
justice  and  the  native  rights  of  men,  which, 
however  decorated,  must  lessen  the  value  of 
English  citizenship.  It  is  for  Englishmen  to 
consider,  not  for  us  ;  we  only  say,  let  us  live  in 
America,  too  thankful  for  our  want  of  feudal  in 
stitutions.  Our  houses  and  towns  are  like  mosses 
and  lichens,  so  slight  and  new ;  but  youth  is  a 
fault  of  which  we  shall  daily  mend.  This  land, 
too,  is  as  old  as  the  Flood,  and  wants  no  Qrna- 
ment  or  privilege  which  nature  could  bestow. 
Here  stars,  here  woods,  here  hills,  here  animals, 
here  men  abound,  and  the  vast  tendencies  con 
cur  of  a  new  order.  If  only  the  men  are  em- 


THE   YOUNG   AMERICAN.  383 

ployed  in  conspiring  with  the  designs  of  the 
Spirit  who  led  us  hither,  and  is  leading  us  still, 
we  shall  quickly  enough  advance  out  of  all  hear 
ing  of  other's  censures,  out  of  all  regrets  of  our 
own,  into  a  new  and  more  excellent  social  state 
than  history  has  recorded. 


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